


Comeback

by ANobleCompanion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Post Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANobleCompanion/pseuds/ANobleCompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it came time to close the doors of Heaven and Hell, things didn't go quite as planned and the consequences were not what the Winchesters expected.  Dean finds himself on his own trying to once again save his brother, his angel and the world.  </p><p>Canon up to 8.21.  AU with references to canon in 8.22 and 8.23 beyond that.  </p><p>Based on the song "Comeback" by Redlight King</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One to Save Me

**Author's Note:**

> As a heads up, there is a temporary character death at the beginning of this story. It's not tagged because they come back and that's established in this chapter. After all, it's a Winchester. 
> 
> This has been beta'd by the lovely FrecklesAreChocolate (Deanhugchester) despite her incredibly busy schedule. THANK YOU!

 

_(The banner was made by the lovely Cliffnotesofanerd because she's amazing - you should check out her stuff!)_

Dean never thought a light could be deafening.  He didn’t remember an actual sound, but the light expanded like a physical thing, hitting him with a concussive force.  The next moments were defined by a complete lack of sound.  

He struggled to remember the moments just before the blast, but the sequencing was scattered like the pieces of a puzzle that wouldn’t fall into place.  He remembered Sam collapsing to his knees, the weight of the tasks finally buckling his giant frame.  He remembered seeing Crowley’s face twisted in rage.  Dean saw him vanish, escaping the fallout as the crumbling earth broke the Devil’s trap binding him.  He recalled, with perfect clarity, Cas desperately calling his name just before the explosion.  The sudden weight of the angel slamming into him.  Then nothing.  

He didn’t even know if they succeeded.  Were the doors closed?  Where was he?  Where were Cas and Sam?  He couldn’t lose them.  Not again.  He swore to himself when they began the ritual to close the gates that he would get them through this.  No matter what it cost him.

Dean needed to make sure Sam and Cas were okay.  He knew he needed to open his eyes.  The problem was, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to make them work.  He willed the lids to rise and take in whatever scene lay around him, but they wouldn’t respond, leaving him to stare into blackness.  He still heard nothing around him that might give him some clue as to where he was and if danger might be near.

He thought he was on his back, but couldn’t tell for sure in the absence of his other senses.  He mentally took stock of his body and registered with surprise that he felt no pain.  Was that even possible?  What was happening? Had Cas healed him?  He had no clues to work with and he feared if he didn’t find out something soon, he would snap.  He tried to open his eyes again, but to no avail.  

Suddenly, he realized his eyes _were_ open.  He could see nothing around him because the space was completely devoid of light.  He put his hand in front of him - or thought he did at least - but still, he could not see it.  

He twisted his head slightly to the side and the motion confirmed he was lying down as he could now sense a hardness resisting the motion as his ear pressed against _something_.  In the distance, he thought he could detect a blur of color separating itself from the black.  He tried to squint to see it better, but the effort was wasted.  

Despite his well honed fight-or-flight instincts, he couldn’t seem to tense his muscles into readiness.  It appeared very little about his body was currently under his control.  

The figure stepped into clarity like steam clearing from a mirror.  Dean sucked in his breath and let it out with a harsh _woosh_.  He turned his head forward again and pinched his eyes shut, willing for a return to ignorance and oblivion.

“Shit,” he choked out.  Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he struggled to keep them from falling.

“Open your eyes, Dean.”

He did, finding to his consternation that he was now somehow standing.  In front of him stood a pretty woman with soft brown hair, kind eyes and a sympathetic smile.  

Dean cleared his throat and nodded his head in acknowledgement, “Tessa.”  

He shuffled uncomfortably.  “So I guess this means I’m dead.”  He knew death was the only way he could see the reaper in front of him.  Tessa was too dedicated to her job to moonlight in the real world like Ajay, taxi reaper extraordinaire.  He knew there was no skirting death this time.  He’d had too many chances already.  And hell, if they’d succeeded, it might even be worth it as long as Sam and Cas were still alive.  He clung to the hope as he saw neither of them standing near him.  He idly wondered now that he was at this point, where he’d wind up at the end of things.  He wasn’t exactly loved in either Heaven or Hell.  He knew the things he had done should earn him a one way trip to Crowley’s kingdom, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.  But he had always clung to the hope that when it came time for him to put down his load, he would get to see his mother again.  Hoped that maybe some of those lives he saved along the way might have counted for something in the end.  It was only in the face of death that he could even admit that desire to himself.  

“Not quite yet, Dean,” Tessa replied with a small amount of exasperation she always reserved just for him.  Dean conceded he probably deserved it - he certainly didn’t have a habit of making her job easy.  

Then he registered what she said.  “Wait. What?  What do you mean ‘not quite?’  I thought I had to be all dead to see you, not just, you know, mostly dead.”  

“You are walking the line between life and death.  Normally, we would not appear to you until it was clear what your fate should be - despite how often you have thwarted it.  However, as it always is with you, Dean, it is more complicated.”  

She turned and began to walk away.  It was clear Dean was expected to follow.  “My boss would like to speak with you.”

* * *

Dean and Tessa walked together in silence through the void for what seemed an immeasurable amount of time.  He did not attempt to speak, feeling as though the action was taboo somehow, though he wasn’t sure what inspired that feeling.  Of all the supernatural creatures he came in contact with, he thought Tessa actually ranked rather high on the “fairly-decent-so-I-don’t-feel-the-need-to-gank-you,” list.  And having played Death for a day, he respected the shit out of the job she had to do.  

Eventually, a door appeared out of the blackness.  It was made of solid wood with intricate carvings.  Dean couldn’t make out most of them, though he clearly detected themes from Revelations.  One image clear as day in the center, was the image of four horsemen riding together with chaos surrounding them.  

Tessa put her shoulder to the door and pushed.  Despite its size and apparent age, it swung silently open.  Dean was beginning to feel as though absence of sound was kind of a thing around here.  The phrase ‘silent as a grave’ drifted through his mind.

When Dean entered the room, all his previously dulled senses were suddenly heightened into overdrive. Death was seated behind a modest table in what appeared to be an ornate library.  As was typical of Dean’s meetings with Death, the Horseman had a plate of food set in front of him.  Dean tried not to eye the six inch thick slice of lasagna in front of Death too covetously.  He knew he wasn’t even close to being on Death’s favorite people list.  Particularly after their last meeting.  

“Ah, welcome, Dean,” Death said, glancing up cursorily at the hunter.  

Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably.  “So, uh, you summoned me?” Dean hitched the side of his mouth up, attempting to use humor to mask the fear coursing through him.  No one he’d ever met or gone up against had earned Dean’s respect more than the Horseman now glaring up at him.  Honestly, with no pun intended, an audience with the hawk nosed, high cheeked, big daddy reaper scared him to death.  

“No, Dean, I did not.  Once again, you, your brother, and that fool of an angel have done something rash without understanding the true consequences of your actions.  So again you stand before me and I am left with a conundrum.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.  “So we managed to do it then?  The doors are shut?”

Death’s glower deepened as though furious at Dean’s inability to grasp the bigger picture.  

“Yes, you stupid ape.  You closed the doors thinking only about locking away the things that make you afraid of the dark.  And the process should have killed you.  Yet here you are walking the line between life and death - neither, really here nor there.  Why do you suppose that is?”

Death looked down at Dean over his nose with a look of irritation that said he did not expect Dean to understand the significance of the question.  Dean did not disappoint.  He figured Death intended it to be rhetorical so he kept his mouth shut.  

“You see, Dean, you closed a door and doors go both ways.  Not only did you lock away the angels and demons - those who were already in Heaven and Hell at least - but you’ve also locked all human souls on this plane of nothingness.  The void.  They cannot move on as they are meant to and most, depending on the manner of their death, can move freely back to your world, just waiting to become corrupted spirits.  What you have accomplished is to throw off the balance, _again_.”

“Wait, what, so you’re saying human souls can’t move on?  We’ve trapped them too?

“Both those deserving of Paradise and a peaceful eternity and those who deserve to rot in Hell’s fire, as well as everyone in between,” Death confirmed.

Dean frowned.  Human souls hadn’t been mentioned in the tablets.  They hadn’t even considered factoring them into the equation.  As soon as they learned the purpose of the tablets, they had only had one goal in mind.  Dean accepted that they should have known by now that _everything_ had a consequence.  They should have tried harder to figure this one out.  He thought back to Metatron’s early warning to think about whether closing the doors was really what they wanted.  At that point though, Sam had already completed two tasks and was barely fit to stand.  Dean figured they had already passed the point of no return.  

For the moment, it was too much to process, so he asked the next question weighing on his mind.  “ What about Cas and Sam?  Are they still alive?”

Death started talking again as though Dean had never spoken.  “As I said, you locked away everything in Heaven and Hell that was already behind the doors.  But you left a few of the key players out.”

“Crowley,” Dean growled, suddenly understanding Death’s hints.  

Death nodded, “Very good.  Crowley is, how should we say it, actively recruiting souls to rally behind him, influencing them and twisting them into demons much more quickly, filling your world with their taint as we speak.”

Dean shrugged, fighting to keep his fingers relaxed rather than clenched into fists at his sides.  “So me and Sammy got a couple more demons to gank.  No biggie.  I wasn’t really looking forward to retirement and a quaint little nine to five anyway.”

The look that pierced Dean redefined _death glare_.  

“What your miniscule mind fails to comprehend, as always, is the big picture.  People die every day Dean.  You may not notice the true impact of your actions in the first five years, or even ten.  But it will not take long for the dead to outnumber the living when both share a finite space that can barely support humanity as it is.  I assure you, few will find the void a satisfactory alternative to what Crowley will offer them on earth.  With his influence, humanity will be reduced to little more than chattel.”

Dean frowned again as he pictured the future Death painted.  Yeah, not good.  He started to feel a twinge of unease at the knowledge of his role in this scene.  He attempted bravado in his response.  He might fear Death, but he still wouldn’t back down when face to face with him.  “So why do you care about all this?  You’ve never struck me as all that altruistic towards humanity.”

“I _care_ ,” Death stressed, “because the natural order is again askew.  Because without Heaven or Hell, my reapers have nowhere to reap the souls _to_.”

“And what do you need me for?”

“I don’t _need_ you for anything.  I _require_ you to clean up your mess because I am tired of doing it for you,” Death spoke calmly, but with a lining of steel in his voice that warned Dean to tread lightly.

“So what are we,” Dean paused slightly over his intentional use of the plural pronoun - Death had not answered his inquiries about Sam and Cas - “supposed to about it?”

Death did not miss the  hesitation in Dean’s voice, “ _You_ , will need to figure that out yourself.  After all, this is your problem.”

Dean stiffened and stood up straight.  “Thanks.  That’s real helpful.  What about Sam and Cas?  And if I’m ‘walking the line,’ then they should be too right?”

Death smiled snidely.  “Your arrogance is noted Dean.  No.  They are not walking the line.  Sam is dead.  He stood directly in front of the blast of Hell’s doors.  He didn’t have an angel fling himself as a shield in front of him.”

Dean sucked in a breath, afraid to ask what he knew he had to.  “And Cas?” he whispered, he throat raspy with emotion.

“Ah, yes, the angel.” Death looked down at the plate in front of him as though it was something curious he couldn’t quite understand.  

“Castiel threw himself in front of the blast from Heaven in an attempt to save you - which he managed to do to a limited success as you now stand before me to speak about it.  Since he is a celestial being, the blast didn’t kill him per se.  It did however, rip his Grace from his vessel and scatter it to the four winds.”

Dean closed his eyes and swayed slightly.  He breathed deeply, trying to settle his thoughts and the sick, churning _pain_ in his gut.  It was pointless.  Everything they’d done.  He hadn’t managed to keep Sam alive.  And Cas...  Dean had walked the line between life and death many times.  There were times he’d just rolled the dice and questioned his life. Now the weight of his stupidity fell on those he cared the most about rather than him.  What kind of messed up God allowed for logic like that?

He’d been such a _dick_ to Cas when he first came back after losing the angel tablet.  Dean hadn’t been able to handle it.  Seeing Cas bloody and mangled.  Knowing after everything, he _still_ hadn’t trusted Dean.  Knowing what Dean had known since Purgatory that he hadn’t been able to speak aloud.  He told Cas he needed him.  What he meant to tell him, what he wanted to tell him, was that he loved him.  He had already decided to tell Cas when they finished with all this shit.  To apologize properly for once.  To try and make things finally, _finally_ , right between them.

And now he couldn’t because his angel destroyed himself trying to save him _again_. The same way Sam had by insisting on taking on those damn trials in Dean’s place.  Now they were both gone.   _Now there's no one to save me_ , Dean thought with a sharp clarity that cut through him like Ruby’s knife, the pain fresh and real.  

“So, then, why?” Dean lashed out, pain taking on the shape of anger.  “Why should I care about what happens next?  Everything that matters, everything that I fight for is gone.  Maybe I’m tired of being the hero.  Maybe, for once, I’d rather cut my losses and just die like a normal guy.”

Death steepled his fingers and looked at Dean as though he was an interesting specimen he was studying that behaved in a way he found amusing.  “Oh, you seem to be under the impression that I am _asking_.  You are, as you once so eloquently put to me, ‘my bitch.’”

“You’ve bound me?” Dean asked in confusion.  He felt no different.  

“In a manner of speaking.  You see, it requires far less for me to bind you than the other way around.  All it takes for me is the right incentive to give you the proper compulsion to obey.  You see, you seem to have forgotten who is in charge of the dead.  You will need Sam to solve this riddle.  After all, while you shut the doors of Heaven, he shut the doors of Hell.”  He looked pointedly at Dean.  

“So you’re saying, that if I help you, you’ll bring Sam back?” Dean ventured.  He thought he might be pushing his luck, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “and Cas?”

“That will be entirely up to you, Dean.  Castiel’s Grace was shattered.  If you want to Humpty Dumpty him back together again, you will need to find the pieces and return them to his vessel.”

Dean’s breath hitched again.  This conversation was taking a toll on his air supply.  “So he wasn’t destroyed?  I can still get him back?  I can get them both back?”

“I believe that’s what I said, yes.”

“But how?  How will I find the pieces of Grace? Where is Sam now?”

“Oh you won’t be getting your brother back that easily.  As I said, he got the full brunt of the shockwave from Hell.  He was blasted into the depths of the void.  You will have to loosen its hold on him first.  As for Castiel, well, you do share a profound bond.  I assure you, you will find a way.”

Death leaned back in his chair and reached into the small pocket on the front of his suit.  Pulling something out, he stretched his hand over the table to Dean, indicating he take what was offered.  Dean stepped forward and accepted to object Death dropped into his outstretched hand, curling his fingers around it as he brought it closer to himself.  When he opened his hand, he saw his amulet; the one Sam had given him so long ago.  

“You might find this useful as well,” Death said enigmatically.  Then, gesturing with his hand, indicated he was done with Dean.  Tessa stepped forward and lightly lay her hand on Dean’s arm.  She had remained silent throughout the exchange and Dean had forgotten she was still in the room.

He followed her back to the doors.  When she opened them, he again saw the inky pitch of the void waiting to envelop him.  He stepped forward into the oblivion, determined that once and for all he would succeed at saving his family and the world.  They would go back to the bunker - all of them - and be happy damn it.  He was determined to get it all back this time.  

 


	2. Where the Fallen Angels Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up to the task Death set him, but he's not sure where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to TRY and post at least once a week. I've written a few chapters out, so I just need to not slack off! 
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta, FrecklesAreChocolate

Dean came back to awareness slowly.  The first thing he registered was the deep ache resonating throughout his body.  There was no sharp pain that indicated a specific injury, just a constant throb, as though he had pushed his body too far and now it was letting him know.  

Next he registered the smell in the air.  He thought he identified chicken noodle soup.  It permeated the atmosphere and the rich seasoned smell promised homemade cooking over the warm, watery broth he would expect from a hospital.  

He pried his eyes open, immediately blinking at the bright invasion of light, so different from the nothingness of the void.  He was on a sofa bed, sheets and pillows rumpled around him like a nest.  He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position to better survey the room, wincing as his muscles protested the movement.  

He didn’t recognize the room or furniture.  Both had a comfortable, lived-in feel that didn’t mesh with the type of life most of the people in his world had.  Then his eyes landed on a small table with a collection of pictures.  Most were of a man and a small boy who looked vaguely familiar.  A few also featured a woman with a bright smile highlighted by a dimple on her cheek.  Her cropped haircut framed her face in a flattering but practical style.  

As though sensing he was awake, the living incarnation of the image stepped into the doorframe drying her hands on a dishrag.

“Jody?” Dean rubbed a hand against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog from his brain.  As he did so, he realized it was clenched around something small and hard.  He opened his fist and stared blankly down at the amulet Death had returned to him.  So that proved it hadn’t been a dream.  Silently, he slipped it over his neck as Jody watched him carefully.

“Welcome back.”

There were a dozen questions racing through his mind and he wasn’t sure where to start.  He decided to begin with the easiest to get the answer to.

“How long have I been here?”

“Here?  About three days.  Not sure exactly how long you were out before I found you.  Garth called me up on Tuesday, said you hadn’t checked in and knew you were taking on something big and nasty in my general region.  I went looking for you and found you in Spirit Mound State Park.  Whole prairie was torn up like a war zone.  

Dean looked around again.  “Sam?  Cas?”

Jody shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable as though she didn’t know how to deliver difficult news.  Dean’s gut clenched although he had already learned Sam and Cas’s fate from Death.  Hearing it from Jody, here in the real world, made the knowledge tangible.  

“I found Cas.  He’s...in the basement.  I think he’s dead Dean.”  She hesitated and eyed Dean closely, gauging his reaction.  

Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion at Jody’s phrasing.  “What do you mean you _think_?  That’s kind of a yes or no thing isn’t it?”  He didn’t contemplate for a second Cas was really dead.  He couldn’t be.  Death had told him Cas was still alive.  And Dean couldn’t lose him.  It wasn’t an option.  

“Usually yes.  But I’ve seen my fair share of dead bodies.  He’s got no breath or pulse, but he doesn’t seem _dead_.  He’s warm, there are no signs of rigor mortis setting in.  And for being at least four days - gone - there are no signs of...” she hesitated as though trying to find a word appropriate for the audience at hand.    
“Decomp?” Dean supplied with a half smile, hiding the bitter sting as deep as he could.  

Jody winced, but nodded.  Dean contemplated what she said briefly.  Death said Cas’s Grace had scattered.  It appeared as though he had at least enough mojo left to maintain his vessel.  He still had no idea _how_ he was expected to find the Grace.  He didn’t even know what he was looking for.  How would he even recognize it when he came across it?  

It was something he would have to figure out when it happened.  There were still too many other questions he needed answered first.  What he knew he needed to ask next he already knew the answer to, but he also knew he needed to hear it to move forward.  He closed his eyes and phrased the one word he managed to push past his lips as a question, “Sam?”

Dean heard Jody shift again.  He felt the mattress dip as she sat down next to him.  He opened his eyes to see her looking at him with a mixture of question and sympathy.  “Sam wasn’t there.”

Dean exhaled the breath he was holding with a _woosh_.  “What?” He expected her to tell him Sam was dead and buried - or burned, which while an appropriate hunter’s death, would make resurrection more complicated.  He was not expecting him to be _gone._  Had he been physically thrown into the void?  Had someone else taken him before Jody arrived?  Dean’s head swam with everything he needed to process.  Suddenly his stomach chimed in with a loud rumble.  

Jody chuckled and patted his arm.  “Well at least there’s one problem I can solve.  Been giving you just plain broth the last few days.  Fortunately you swallowed it.  Didn’t want to have to set up an IV if I didn’t have to.  Now that you’re awake, we can get something a little more solid in you.”

She stood up again and moved back towards the kitchen, leaving Dean to mull over everything she told him.  He wasn’t sure where he should even begin to start.  Somehow he had to find Sam, fix Cas, _and_ fix the world from certain damnation.  Again.  He had never felt so alone.  

He threw off the covers and swung his legs to the side of the bed, intending to follow Jody into the kitchen.  When he pushed himself upright, however, his vision tunneled and his legs collapsed under him.  He was glad the bed was still right behind him as fell back against it.  

Well that was just friggin’ awesome.  He was supposed to save the world and he couldn’t even make it upright.  He rubbed his hand over his face and attempted to compartmentalize everything he needed to do and what he could do _now_.  His gut twisted when he thought of Sammy.  He knew his brother was dead.  But he also _knew_ he would get him back no matter what it would take.  This time at least Death seemed on board with that plan too.  Dean worried about where the body was though.  If Crowley had Sam, he shuddered to think about what the underhanded crossroads bastard had planned for it.  

When he couldn’t stand the thought of Sam anymore, he turned to Cas instead.  This time, it wasn’t his gut that clenched, but his heart.  

From what Jody said, it seemed Cas was still alive in his own angel-y way.  Dean found that despite Jody’s reassurances, he needed to see the angel, to know he was real.  

Dean opted not to try and get up again on his own.  When Jody returned with the soup, he gratefully accepted the bowl and turned the conversation to the wider world.  So far it seemed as though the side effects of closing the gates had not yet become noticeable amongst the civilian population.  In the hunting world however, Garth reported a distinct and sudden increase in hauntings from all over.  Dean supposed he should be grateful it was just spirits and not demons yet - seemed like Crowley hadn’t managed to convert too many souls through whatever kind of PR scam the Former King of Hell planned to run.  But he knew it was only a matter of time.  Besides, it wouldn’t be long before hunters found themselves caught out in the open if they had to salt and burn every friggin’ person that kicked it.  

Jody also confirmed that Kevin was safe.  The kid had tried to insist on being with them when they closed the doors, sure he might be able to help in some way and sincerely trying to find a way to even the score with Crowley.  Not that Dean could blame him, but there was no way he was gonna let the kid stick his neck out for them again.  Fortunately, Sam and Cas had backed his call and Kevin agreed to stand down.  He had done and lost enough of his own already.  From what he’d told Sam and Dean after Metatron got him back from Crowley, the bastard had told the kid his mother was dead.  Dean and Sam, with the help of Garth, hadn’t managed to find any evidence to confirm or contradict the claim.  If Linda was dead, that was another friend and innocent soul he intended to make Crowley pay for.  

Once Dean finished his soup, he set the bowl on the end table next to the couch and looked Jody in the eye.  “Take me to Cas, please?”  His tone implied a question over command and he fought to mask the desperation roiling inside him to see his angel.  

Jody nodded and reached over to take his arm, supporting him as he stood.  “Come on, then.  Remember what I told you though, Dean.  He seems as though he’s dead - like an angel coma maybe.  The light might be on, but nobody’s home.”

Dean nodded, grateful his legs didn’t collapse under him this time as he moved towards the staircase Jody indicated.  With the sheriff’s help, he managed to make it down the stairs to a small finished basement.  There was a full sized bed along the far wall.  

Dean couldn’t suppress the sharp inhalation of air through his teeth as he saw Cas laid out prone and unmoving on the bed before him.  He was still dressed in his usual crumpled tax accountant attire, though Jody had removed the trench coat.  It sat folded on a chair in the corner.  Thankfully, Jody pretended not to hear the sudden unsteadiness in his breath as she guided Dean to the chair beside the bed.  “I’ll leave you alone for a bit.  You holler if you need anything or want any help getting back up the stairs.”

Dean nodded, but his eyes never left Cas’s face.  It was all he could do not to rip himself from Jody’s guiding arm and race to the angel’s side and try to shake him into consciousness.  Or to clutch him to his chest to make sure he couldn’t leave him again.  He had a sudden flash of memory of doing just that with Sammy after he’d been stabbed by Jake in Cold Oak and Dean was too late to save him.  

Dean could tell just by looking at Cas that he was too late again.  As attracted as he had to admit he was to Cas physically - and man was he attracted to Cas physically - he found that attraction completely lacking when Cas was so obviously _not there_.  And he wasn’t.  This body was just a shell.  Jody had likened it to a coma, but she was wrong.  Dean had seen his fair share of friends and family in comas over the years.  There was still a lingering sense of the person _there_ , as though they were simply hiding behind a curtain.  There was still something tethering not only the soul to the body, but the loved ones to the person _in_ the body.  With the vessel in front of him there was an emptiness, as though _he_ had truly become an _it_ , nothing more than an empty container waiting to be filled.  Though flesh and blood, what lay before him was an inanimate object crafted of little more than clay.  

In a strange way, Dean was glad to realize he didn’t feel the same tug of attraction he always felt around Cas.  Corny as it sounded even to him, he was glad to know he wasn’t as shallow as the whole world - himself included - always thought.  He was attracted to _Castiel_ and the inflections _he_ gave that form.  He would willingly drown in those piercing blue eyes any day, because it was his angel looking back.  He knew then he would feel the same if he was looking into brown eyes or hazel, male or female, young or old.  He knew he would feel the same about Castiel no matter what vessel Cas took.  Though he had to admit he was glad Jimmy had given his body rather than allowing Cas to remain in Claire.  That would just lead to a whole different level of socially awkward.  

Dean sat next to Cas’s form, but did not instinctively reach for the hand lying within easy distance.  It would be a futilely comforting gesture.  Instead, he rested his elbows to his knees, steepled his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose between his pointed fingers.  When he spoke, it was not directed at the body next to him, but rather to the air as he had become so accustomed to doing these last few years.  

“Cas, man, you finally came back.  You said this time it was for good.  But you’re gone again and for what?  To save my sorry hide?  I don’t know why you keep trying so hard to do that.  Without you and Sammy, it’s not worth it anyway.”  Dean dragged a tired hand through his hair and continued, “I don’t even know where to start looking, Cas.  Death said I’d find a way.  I just wish...” he laughed ruefully, “I wish you would give me some kind of sign.”

As if on cue, a warm, tingling sensation seemed to settle itself over the spot Cas’s handprint once marked him.  The spot Cas had said he had gripped tight to raise Dean from perdition.  At the same time, Dean sensed rather than heard a small humming coming from the trenchcoat in the corner.  

Dean lurched to his feet and staggered over to the discarded garment.  When he picked it up an ebony feather fell out and floated to the ground with an ethereal grace.  

Hands shaking, Dean reached down to pick it up.  It was warm in his hands, and despite being a deep coal black, seemed to be made of light.  As Dean turned it in his hand, a flash of memory - another puzzle piece - hit him.  

After Cas slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, Dean heard a familiar woosh and rustle.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw silhouetted in the blinding light, a set of massive wings, extended and curled around him protectively.  

Cas had once told him his wings were a manifestation of his Grace.  If they took the full brunt of the blast, it would explain why his Grace shattered.  

Was this a piece of Cas’s Grace?  If so, what did he do with it now that he had it?  Running on instinct, Dean returned to the bed and lay the feather on the vessel.  It was almost immediately absorbed into the body.  

At first, there was no change.  Then, without warning, the chest in front of him began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.  Dean reached out and placed two fingers against the neck.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt a soft but steady tick in response.  

At least that was one question answered.  He needed to find Cas’s feathers.  

 

* * *

 

The next few days fell into a steady routine.  Dean regained his strength and helped out with odd jobs around Jody’s house as he tried to think of what to do next.  He hadn’t felt this alone since Dad had first gone missing.  At least then he’d still been able to reach out to Sammy, even if it had meant pulling his brother away from his life at Stanford.  It sure as hell had been a lot easier than trying to find a way to pull him back from his death, yet again.  

And little good it did him to know what he was looking for in terms of Cas’s Grace.  Wasn’t much help if he didn’t know _where_ to look.  In some ways, it was harder to have Cas sleeping and unresponsive in front of him rather than missing like Sam.  It was a constant, physical reminder to Dean of what he’d lost, of what he’d failed to protect yet again.  He would never forgive himself if he didn’t manage to get Cas back and tell him everything he should have told him long ago.

Feelings had always been hard for Dean.  He’d been taught to tuck them away and ignore them.  They were a distraction that could lead to getting someone hurt.  Dad made sure Dean was tough.  There was no room for tears and fear when you were a hunter.  Dean couldn’t recall a single word of affection from his father after his mother died so he’d figured he shouldn’t be allowed to express anything either.  If he had to feel anything, he needed to keep it buried deep to keep himself sharp.  

But now?  With Cas? It was too much.  Dean needed to let the emotions out.  He needed Cas’s steadying presence by his side.  He needed that slightly confused look on Cas’s face to make him laugh and brighten his day.  Cas knew him better than anyone - even Sammy - and he still accepted Dean.  All of Dean.  And Dean needed that acceptance.  

One evening, about a week after waking up, the need to move and get some space around him overtook him.  He climbed into the Impala and just started driving.  It was late, so there weren’t many other cars on the road.  The highway was wide, flat and open.  As the tires ate up the asphalt in front of him, it was like a balm on his soul.  

After driving for an hour or so, Dean pulled off onto the side of a deserted stretch of the highway and got out to sit on the Impala’s hood, the engine warming him through his jeans.  He closed his eyes and swore under his breath, because while Cas may have _accepted_ him, he still hadn’t _trusted_ him.  And that flipping hurt.  What did it say about Dean, that the one being who knew him inside and out couldn’t trust him?  

Dean felt his eyes prickle as he looked up towards the stars.  “Cas, man, I’m hoping whatever parts of you there are out there can still hear me, cuz I got something I need to say to you.  Not everything.  Not yet.  I’m gonna say that to your face.  But for now...” Dean cleared his throat, finding it suddenly thick. “For now man, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for whatever it is in me that kept you from trusting me.  I’m sorry for letting you down.  I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you when you needed it.  And I’m sorry for behaving like a dick when you did ask for help.”

Dean breathed in the crisp night air before committing his last confession to prayer.  “I was scared, Cas.  I told you I needed you and you left.  I was scared you would just leave again as soon as I got you back.  I needed you then and I still do.”  

Dean felt a tingling sensation in his left arm.  He glanced down at it, surprised, then looked around as the sensation of humming filled his head again.  He pushed himself off the hood of the Impala and instinctively moved towards the back seat - the one Cas always occupied.  Sure enough, there on the seat lay a single black feather.    

Dean reached into the car to pick it up, running his hands along the length of it before sticking it carefully into his pocket and climbing into the driver’s seat.  He turned on the ignition and smiled.  It was time to go back to where his fallen angel slept.  


	3. When You Haven't Got a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas wakes up, but he's not quite the Cas Dean knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a little late posting this week. Went out of town this weekend and haven't had much opportunity to write and no access to an actual computer! GAH!

At first, Dean had been thrilled to find the second feather.  He raced back to Jody’s in far less time than it took for him to reach the abandoned spot on the roadway.  A small part of him had dared to think - to hope - that this was it, that he was about to get his friend back.  In retrospect, he should have realized it wouldn’t be that easy.  That wasn’t his life.

As soon as he reached the house, he charged inside, ignoring for the moment Jody’s startled inquiries.  He headed straight for the sleeping angel and lay the feather on his chest.  Just like before, the feather was quickly absorbed into the vessel.  Almost as soon as the tip vanished from sight, Cas opened his eyes.  

Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of that impossible blue he had begun to crave like air, water and food combined.  As he stared down into them, willing himself to drown in their depths, he realized the pools were too shallow.  There was still something missing.  Though Dean continued to look longer, searching, it only took him a second to recognize the emptiness in Cas’s gaze.

Castiel blinked long and slowly as though just learning how the action worked.  His brow furrowed in that frustratingly familiar look of confusion that made Dean ache with longing.  Eventually, the vacant, confused look settled on Dean.

“Hello,” Cas paused as though trying to determine how to proceed.  “Do I know you?”

Dean closed his eyes at the sting, sharp, precise and directly over his heart.  He looked at the angel on the bed again.  Other than to turn his head to examine the hunter, he hadn’t yet made an effort to move.  

“Yeah, Cas, you know me.  My name’s Dean.  I’m your,” Dean swallowed hard here, words pouring through his head - family, brother-in-arms, destiny, human, protector, “I’m your friend.”  

Cas frowned as though the word friend was a concept he couldn’t quite understand.  When he spoke though, he latched onto another detail, “My name is Cas?”

Dean suddenly remembered the shock of finding Cas alive again after watching his friend swallowed by a rushing river, leaving behind only his trench coat.  He had lost his memories then too, taking on the name Emmanuel.  That Cas had faced Dean with as little recognition as this one.  Dean was unsure he was strong enough to face it again.   _Have to be_ , he thought to himself.  Yet again, Cas had destroyed himself to save Dean.  Dean would get him back, whole and himself.  He needed to tell Cas so many things.  He needed to Cas to understand his own value, despite the mistakes he had made.  Most of all, he just needed Cas.  And at the moment, despite the blue eyes and ruffled hair, he wasn’t sitting in front of Dean.  

Sighing minutely, he answered the angel’s question.  “Yes, well, your full name is Castiel.  Do you remember anything about who you are?”

Cas’s gaze moved from Dean to the ceiling, as though the answers to Dean’s question could be found there.

“No,” Cas dragged the word out slowly, as though unsure.  “I don’t believe so.  I’m not sure what ‘me’ means.  I feel empty - like there should be more voices.  And I feel - heavy.  I don’t think I’m supposed to be here on the ground.  I seem to recall the sensation of floating - flying?”

He turned his eyes to Dean again as though seeking confirmation.  “You seem to be tethered to the ground too, however, so perhaps I’m mistaken?”  He lifted his hands to examine them for the first time as though they were curiosities he wasn’t expecting.  

Dean resisted the urge to press his hands to his temples to ease the headache he could feel growing.  This was not going to be easy.  It wasn’t as though Cas was an amnesia patient with his memories there, but locked away.  When he had thought he was Emmanuel, the memories had returned unbidden and on their own.  Now, the memories were scattered with his Grace and no prodding on Dean’s part was going to help Cas remember who he was.  They were starting from scratch in more ways than one.  Just his friggin’ luck.  

He tried to decide where to begin.  How did he recount the history of a millennia old being - especially when he’d only been around for the last seven years of Cas’s existence?  This thought caught Dean off-guard.  Dean knew he loved Cas.  Cas had become a critical part of Dean’s life and family.  And even though he hadn’t always been around for those seven years, the fact he was still beside Dean now, was significant.  Dean could count on one hand the number of people that he cared about who managed to stick around that long - by choice or otherwise.  Hell, he hadn’t even had his mother in his life as long as he’d had Cas.  

But from Cas’s perspective, Dean must be such an insignificant blip in eternity.  Over the years Dean had come to treasure what Cas had once called their ‘profound bond,’ thinking that he was important in the grand scheme of Cas’s life too.  But Cas was a soldier.  It was his mission to watch over and protect humanity.  Yes, the war had changed irrevocably since Cas met Dean, but in the long haul, was this any more than a skirmish? Was Dean little more than an interesting if short-lived specimen Cas would forget with time?  Was that why it was so easy for Cas to always leave Dean behind?  The revelation hurt like a festering wound and left Dean feeling rather like a dog waiting by the door for his master to return home from work.  

Despite this, Dean knew that like the dog and his master, all he wanted was for Cas to stay and to return some of the affection he felt for the angel.  Honestly, it made him feel more than a little pathetic, so his voice was gruffer and angrier when he responded to Cas - no, Castiel.  This wasn’t Cas in front of him.  

“Yeah, I’m tethered.  Not all of us get to be douchebag angels with wings.”

Dean regretted the retort immediately.  Fortunately, Castiel didn’t seem to register the heat or the insult in the words.  

“So we are different?” he asked, curiosity thick in his voice.  “I am an angel?”

Dean made an almost physical effort to check his anger.  It was directed at himself, not Castiel, and this Castiel didn’t seem to rise to the bait to satisfy it anyway.  

“Yeah man, you’re an ‘Angel of the Lord.’ Castiel, the Angel of Thursday.  I’m just human.”

Cas frowned, “I do not feel as though this is my proper form.  As though my shape is wrong.  And I do not appear to have wings as you indicated.”

Dean scrubbed his face in his hands.  He didn’t know how to answer Cas.  His tone and confusion were childlike - simply curious about why the sky was blue rather than frustrated at not understanding the references in the world around him.  Dean missed his angel.  The one who demanded clarification with a belligerence that bordered between arrogant and adorable.  

“I can’t tell you everything, Castiel.  I’ve never seen your true form.  You told me once that you were a ‘multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent’ whatever the hell that means, and that you were the size of the Chrysler building.  Right now, you’re in a vessel - a human body that allows you to walk and talk to us mere mortals.”

Cas looked at him, the vagueness in his eyes causing them to lack their usual intensity.  “But I am incomplete.”  It was a statement, not a question.

Dean looked down at the floor, ashamed to admit Castiel was _incomplete_ as he put it, because of Dean.  “Yeah, there was - an accident.  Your Grace, the stuff that makes you, you, was scattered.  I’ve been trying to get it back, but I’ve only found a couple pieces so far.”  

“Because you are my friend.”  

Dean looked up at Castiel again and wanted to weep at the trust he saw directed at him.  Why?  Why did Castiel trust him now when he felt he deserved it the least?  Why couldn’t he have trusted Dean when it mattered most?

 

* * *

 

Now that Castiel was awake, Dean felt a growing need to be on the move, pushing towards accomplishing his goals.  Even if he still had no idea how to go about doing that.  

They spent another day at Jody’s as Dean thought about his next move.  He had a strong desire to get back to the bunker.  He wanted the comfortable surroundings of the war room to help him strategize where to go next.  On the way, he planned to stop at Spirit Mound again to try and figure out exactly what happened and where Sammy might be.  

When the time came to leave, Dean loaded Castiel into the front seat of the Impala, demonstrating how to buckle the seat belt before standing to say goodbye to Jody.

Never good with expressing gratitude, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down into the dirt at his feet before squinting up to meet Jody’s steady gaze.  He opened his mouth to say thank you, when the sheriff surprised him by reaching out and pulling him in close.  

“Now you listen,” she said gruffly, “You take care of that angel of yours, but you take care of yourself too.”  She pulled back and looked him directly in the eye to make sure he was paying attention.  “Don’t take the whole world on alone.  Dean, if you need help, remember, there are still a few of us around to help out.”  She smiled a wistful smile, remembering those they had both lost that were no longer around to help.

Dean nodded, a lump in his throat and any words he might have said stuck behind it.  Turning, he opened the driver’s side door to the Impala and slid across the leather seat.  He wrapped his hands around the wheel, allowing the familiar contours to ground him.

Despite what Jody said, he knew he wouldn’t be calling on the few friends he had left.  The people he still knew and cared about were civilians - with the exception of Garth, who was, well, _Garth_ \- who had no business being in this world and wouldn’t be without a single crappy twist of fate.  He wouldn’t endanger Jody, or pull Charlie away from yet another life.  Kevin had done more than enough.  It was time the prophet returned to being a mathlete.  Krissy, Aiden and Josephine were still kids who should just focus on being kids.  

With a final wave, Dean started the engine and pulled out onto the main road that would take them first to Spirit Mound and then home.  Spirit Mound State Park was about an hour south of Sioux Falls.  The area had a long history of legends amongst the Native American tribes of the region.  In addition to the Sioux, the Omaha, and Otoes all refused to go near the site, terrified of the ‘Little People’ or ‘Deavals’ as William Clark had recorded in his journals.  There were fairly detailed stories as recent as 250 years ago of a large group of Lakota warriors who set out in the area near the mound.  All had been brutally killed.  Sam had surmised, and Cas confirmed, that the little people’s ability to come and go in such numbers indicated a tear or door of some kind.  That, coupled with the empty, wide open expanses of prairie that promised minimal damage from whatever fallout would ensue, convinced them to complete the joint ritual there at midnight during the last full moon.  

Though Cas had lost the angel tablet to Crowley, Metatron had remembered the tasks and relayed them before pulling the typical angel version of Ding-Dong-Ditch - presumably to return to his life as a hermit angel.  He had told them closing the gates was their choice, but to be prepared for the consequences.  Of course he hadn’t stuck around long enough to explain those consequences.  Now, Dean wondered idly if Metatron hadn’t hoped for this.  

Turned out, closing Heaven was a lot easier with an angel on your side, even one close to mortally wounded.  With Cas weakened, and Naomi breathing down their necks, it had seemed as though they had very little choice - consequences be damned.  

Dean had not counted on those consequences  including the loss of his whole family.  If he’d thought about it, he might could have guessed the world would be in peril again.  The last few years, that really had just become a state of normal.  Sometimes, he really wished the world would just stay saved for ten freakin’ minutes.  

As they drew closer to the park, Dean looked over towards the partial-Castiel next to him.  It was almost as though someone had hit the reset button on a toy.  He was awake again, but he was blank.  

Over the years, Cas had started to pick up several human mannerisms from the Winchesters, including slouching on a long car ride.  Now, though, Castiel sat ramrod straight, staring forward as though awaiting orders.  The sight made Dean wince mentally.

Every time Dean thought he was alone in the past, there had still been at least one person around who had known him and stuck around despite his flaws.  When Dad disappeared, Sam might have bitched, but he came.  When Sam died the first time, Bobby had been there with him, trying his damndest to hold one adopted son together while mourning the loss of another.  And back during that dark period when they were trying to prevent the apocalypse and Sam seemed to choose Ruby over Dean, it was Cas who kept Dean grounded and fighting.  It had been Cas who restored both Dean and Bobby after Sam fell into the pit in Stull.  Even that year at Lisa’s, when he’d thought Sam was dead, he could have called Bobby or prayed to Cas - it has been his choice not to.  

Now though, Dean knew what really being alone felt like.  It didn’t matter that there was a body that looked like Cas sitting beside him, because this wasn’t Cas.  Not yet.  But Dean swore that no matter how many feathers there were out there, Dean would carefully gather them all.  He knew without that conviction, he wouldn’t be strong enough to face the task Death had placed before him.

Since it was the middle of the week in early May, there were very few cars in the parking lot outside the small visitor’s center located at the trailhead.  

A young man who looked like he might still be in college and wearing the standard park service uniform smiled at them in greeting.  “Good afternoon!  Are you interested in taking a tour?”

“Ah, no,” Dean replied, throwing the kid a half grin.  “We’re not really the tour types.  My buddy here has to read every placard twice, so we can never keep up.”  He gave a shrug and a “what can ya do” look while trying to avoid cueing Castiel with a look when he turned a scrutinizing stare towards Dean upon realizing Dean was discussing him.  Fortunately, he didn’t say anything to contradict the story, though the young guide still looked at them both rather dubiously.   

“Oh, well, in that case, here’s a map.  Please note you are advised to avoid the whole Stone Creek area on the southern side.  There was a storm a few days ago and the area has become treacherous.”  The kid’s voice took on a slightly monotone sound as he repeated the warning he had likely already given many times over the past few days.  

Dean made a special note of the location, silently thanking their luck that visitors were being advised to stay away.  He highly doubted the state park service had the budget to set up security of any kind so that meant they had a very low risk of being observed.  

When Dean and Castiel moved back out of the visitors center to the open air outside, Dean tilted his face up towards the sun.  It was still spring and the air, while holding the promise of summer heat, still heavily relied on the sun’s presence to bring an easy comfort to the surrounding temperature.  A piece of shade or an errant cloud would inevitably drop the temperature by a noticeable amount.  

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he watched Dean and Dean was grateful for the familiarity of the gesture.  It gave him confidence he would be able to bring back more.  

“You didn’t wish for that man to know our true destination.”  The observation was a statement rather than a question, but Dean still felt the curiosity behind the words.

“No.”

“Why?  Perhaps his knowledge of the region and the events could have proved useful.”

“Because he _has_ no knowledge of the events, Castiel.  He thinks it was just some freak weather phenomenon doesn’t he?”

When Castiel continued to look confused, Dean realized again exactly how much of Cas’s knowledge was missing.  Dean had explained to Castiel that he was an angel - albeit a temporarily fallen one -  and some of the events leading up to his current condition.  It hadn’t occurred to Dean to explain that most of the world wasn’t aware of the existence of angels and demons.  Secrecy hadn’t been a concern at Jody’s and Dean had lived so much of his life on the fringe that revealing anything about himself or his life to a complete stranger didn’t even occur to him.

He sighed in an attempt to gain a moment of patience before trying to explain the ways of the world to the angel.  “Most people don’t think angels exist.  At least not really.  Not out of myths and stories.”  Dean snorted inelegantly.  “In most cases, human stories have angels as the good guys, always watching out for humanity.  In reality, angels are, for the most part, a bunch of dickwad douchebags who would like nothing more than to see humanity destroy itself.”  

Castiel frowned as though still confused.  He looked down at his own hands and back to Dean as though trying to reconcile Dean claiming him as a friend and then qualifying angels the way he did.  Dean cursed himself and his thoughtless mouth.  

“Not you, man.  Never you.  Well,” Dean shot him a grin intended to convey good humor and friendship rather than censorship and judgement, “you’ve had your moments too, but...well, you always meant well.”

Castiel nodded his head, accepting this explanation, if for no other reason than that there was no other version present to contradict it.  Dean almost missed what would have once been Cas’s guaranteed argument as he attempted to counter Dean’s pronouncement with literal interpretations and logic.  

“So it would be unwise to tell other humans that I am an angel?”

“Yeah, dude, definitely not a wise idea.”

They had managed to hike to the off-limits area of the park while they talked.  Dean blew out a low whistle as he surveyed the damage around him.  It looked as though a giant clawed creature had spread its arms and drawn its fingers through the ground, leaving deep furrows and culminating in a pile of debris in the center.  To an outside observer who believed the damage was caused by a lightening strike, or some other natural phenomenon, it might look as though the damage began at a central point and radiated out in two directions, dissipating approximately fifty yards from their starting point.  However, Dean knew that in fact, the origin points had been from either end of the destroyed earth moving inward, created by the backlash of two dimensions closing and sealing themselves.  

Dean resolutely walked to the center of the damage and noticed a small clump of ground that remained unscathed.  The damage seemed to peel away from the area like water parting around a boulder in a stream.  

He stole a glance over to the angel standing next to him, guilt twisting through him.  He knew he was seeing an imprint, a physical reminder of the actions Cas took to protect him.  

“Stupid idiot only got yourself hurt instead,” he muttered to himself.  

Castiel only showed mild interest in the landscape around him.  Of course, he had no memory of the events here.  He did not realize he was observing the evidence of his own near destruction.  Dean watched Castiel as he stood next to him, passive as though awaiting instruction, completely lacking his normal intensity.  Dean was overcome suddenly with the knowledge of how it felt when he didn’t have a friend, even when Castiel was standing beside him.  

_Cas_ , Dean prayed silently, not wanting to draw attention of Castiel beside him.   _Why’d you do it man?  I’m not_ worth _it._   _Never have been._

The feeling in his arm this time caught him by surprise in its intensity.  Rather than a tingling sensation, it was a white hot flash, like a brand against his skin.  It almost felt angry.  

At the same moment, Castiel turned to face their right - the same direction from which Dean had already begun to sense the humming sensation as it played along his nerves.  The former angel made no attempt to move however, so Dean strode past him towards the point where Cas would have stood to protect Dean.  

Sure enough, there at his feet, was a single black feather.  As Dean picked it up and turned it in the full natural light of day, he noticed a subtle sheen of color, like oil on water.  He wondered if the previous two feathers looked like this too and he hadn’t noticed in the dimmer light.  

Grasping the feather, Dean strode back to Castiel.  When he was within arms reach, he placed the feather in Castiel’s hand.  Castiel looked at it for a moment before bringing his hands towards his chest.  With a soft glow, the feather vanished as though it was sinking into the vessel in front of it.  

As soon as the light faded, Castiel’s eyes rolled back in his head and his knees folded beneath him.  Only Dean’s lightening quick reflexes kept Castiel from slamming face first into the ground.  

“Shit! Castiel? Come on, man.  Are you all right?” Fear snaked its way through Dean’s gut.  What had happened?

He lay the fallen angel on the ground so he could more easily give him a once over and make sure he was ok.  Dean checked for his vitals and made note of the other man’s deep, even breathing.  There were no visible signs of an injury.  For all intents and purposes, Castiel appeared to be asleep.  Dean rocked back on his heels and ran his hand down his face.  willing his own heart to slow down.  

This was the first piece of Grace they had restored while Castiel was awake.  Perhaps the immediate drop to sleep was a side effect of the mojo reconnecting.  It’s not like they had precedent to work with.  Dean closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.  He wished almost immediately he hadn’t.

“Well, well, lookie here,” a voice drawled  out, deeply amused.  Dean’s eyes snapped open to see a demon walking directly towards them, knife at the ready.  

_Shit._


	4. When you Have to Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel regains a few more memories and starts to question those he hasn't recovered yet. Dean finds out a bit more about Sam's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long in coming! It's been a weird couple of weeks. Next chapter should be up on time (Sunday).

As the demon moved closer, Dean shot into a low crouch in front of Castiel’s still form.   _Damn_ , where had this guy come from?  They were in the middle of a freakin’ prairie.  Had Dean really been that out of it?  

“You know, after the first day or two I started thinking Crowley was off his rocker sayin’ you two would be back.  I was gettin’ mightily pissed havin’ to wait around you know.  Awful rude of you to take so long.”

“So you’re Crowley’s bitch, huh?” Dean asked as he reached for the knife inside his boot.  Belatedly, he realized Sam had had the demon knife and firing a gun in the middle of the day in a state park would not attract the kind of attention he wanted with an unconscious part-angel on one side and a demon on the other.  He could bullshit his way through a lot, but he preferred avoiding it if he could.  So he decided to stall until he could figure out the best course of action.  

“I have to say I’m surprised after all this time, I don’t rank someone higher on the demon food chain.  Crowley must have lost all the good help when the doors closed.  How’s your boss liking being earthbound anyway?”

The demon in front of him let out an audible snarl.  Ok.  So baiting a demon, maybe not the best stalling technique in the book, but Dean was stretched wire thin trying to figure all this shit out alone and he was irritated at being caught figuratively with his pants down and he wanted to take it out on someone.  The demon in front of him seemed an appealing option at the moment.

“I got a message for you, Winchester,” the demon bit out, clearly wishing he was authorized to do more.  The demon glanced at Castiel lying behind Dean.  “Looks like your angel’s not doin’ to well there.  He make a habit of fallin’ asleep on the job?”

Dean grit his teeth.  Now he knew this demon was nothing more than a messenger boy, it was likely he could get Castiel away without any problems if he kept his mouth shut.  The comment about Castiel worried Dean on a different level though.  

This guy clearly expected both Dean and Cas.  More specifically, he seemed to expect them both fully functioning.  While Dean’s hunter’s instincts were loathe to let the demon go on principle, he knew his options for ganking it were currently limited.  Knowing he would report Castiel’s weakened state to Crowley put a new sense of urgency on the situation.  

“Yeah?  What’s the message, asshat?”

The demon sneered as though sensing Dean’s discomfort.  “Crowley wants you to know he gave Sam a nice right burial.  Good and proper.  See, Crowley can be a gentleman like that.”

_Shit_ , Dean thought yet again.  This was one of the worst case scenarios Dean had imagined regarding Sammy.  Not only did Crowley have Sam’s body, it was now buried God knew where.  

He kept his voice steady as he responded.  “That so?  Awfully generous of him to pass the information along.  Why’s he letting us know?”

“He’s got his reasons,” the demon evaded.

Dean smirked, “In other words, you’re too far beneath his notice for him to clue you in, huh?”

The demon snapped, charging Dean with a yell.  Dean twisted to the side to pull the fight away from Castiel he dodged the first blow but was not quite so lucky on the second.  

He was knocked to the ground with a the demon advancing.  Knowing the next move would likely be a kick and with no time to avoid it, Dean pulled his knees in to protect his torso and covered his face with his forearms.  Suddenly, around the cracks of his makeshift shield, there was a blinding light.  Dean heard the demon shout once, then there was silence.  

Cautiously, Dean lowered his arms and looked around to see what the hell had just happened.  Castiel stood over him, looking down as though he was trying to figure out why Dean was on the ground.  

Dean looked the angel up and down, assessing his condition.  “Hey man, you all right?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed.  “I believe I should be asking you that question as you were the one being hit.  I presume that was a demon?”  

Dean huffed out a strained laugh at the question.  “Yes, that was a demon.”  He paused, eyeing Castiel a little warily.  “ While, ah, I’m really grateful for your timing and the proof that you seem to be able to smite again with the best of them, you know you can’t just go around ganking anyone and anything right?  If that had been a human, there would have been better ways to stop him.”  

Dean could see at least some of Cas’s personality seemed to have returned with the the addition of the most recent feather by the affronted look on the semi-angel’s face.  

“I’m a strategist Dean.  The demon was hurting you.  You did not appear to have your weapon and you held the tactical disadvantage in the battle.  Additionally, I compared this man’s face with others I have seen and there was clearly a face under the face which I have not observed on you or any other human since I awoke.”  

It was the most Castiel had spoken at once since regaining consciousness.  While the tone was flatter, lacking Cas’s usual indignation when questioned by Dean, it was still a very typical Cas reaction and Dean couldn’t help the slight curl of his lips.  

“Hey, Dude, just had to check.  Not complaining at all that you just saved my bacon.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side as he examined Dean through narrowed eyes.  “You were battling over breakfast meat?”

“Wha-? No, Castiel, it’s an expression.  Just tryin’ to say thanks.”  Dean winced as he shifted into a more upright position.  It didn’t feel like he’d actually broken anything, but he knew he would have some pretty spectacular bruises come morning.  

“Any chance you got any healing mojo back with the smiting mojo?”

“Though I’m unsure what you mean by ‘mojo,’ I don’t have the ability to heal if that is what you are asking.”  Cas looked down at his hands as he responded as if he was reading his abilities through them.

Dean snorted as he gingerly pushed himself into a standing position. “Figures.”  His right hip twinged when he put his weight on it.  It wasn’t surprising since it took the full brunt of Dean’s weight when he landed.  Slowly, he made his way through the disrupted landscape back to the Impala.  

Castiel followed with a confused look on his face.  “Dean, why are we leaving now?  I thought you had questions?”

“Yeah, well, got the answers didn’t I?  Crowley,” Dean spit the name out, “has Sammy’s body hidden God knows where.  He doesn’t know you aren’t all angeled up and as a bonus, we found another one of your feathers.”  Dean cast a look over his shoulder to make sure Castiel was moving behind him and not still standing on the site of the battleground.  

He startled when he realized Castiel was _right_ behind him.  “Geeze, Castiel!” Dean rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest where he had actually felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes matched up with two pools of blue less than a foot away.  “How many times do I have to tell you, don’t sneak up on a guy like that?”

Castiel frowned, “I don’t recall you giving me such advice, Dean.”

_Shit_.  Dean had responded on instinct, his mouth forgetting for a moment this wasn’t the whole Cas to whom he had lectured on personal space countless times.  “Sorry, man.  You used to do that all the time.  I always thought it was a Grace thing.  l guess not.”  Dean rubbed the back of his neck to hide the flush he knew was staining it.  His explanation sounded lame even to his ears.  He huffed a laugh to try and loosen the tension.  “Maybe you were a cat in a previous life.”

Cas squinted at him, causing the bridge of his nose to crinkle.  “Dean, I existed long before all mammals on earth.  If I had a previous life, it could not have been as a feline.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes as he continued to walk forward.  “Dude, again, it was a figure of - wait!”

Dean stopped mid-stride and controlled and dextrous Castiel still might have been, he was too close to prevent walking into Dean’s back.  

Dean ignored the grunt of surprise as he turned again to face the shell of his best friend.  “You remember how old you are?” He paused briefly as something else Castiel had said registered at last.  “And you said you were a strategist.  So you remember new stuff?”

Dean felt hope flare momentarily only to be chased down by his feelings of trepidation.  He had initially thought this feather only returned trace elements of Cas’s personality and the ability to smite.  He was so grateful for both, Dean hadn’t thought to see if there was more.  Did Cas remember him?  If he did, it would mean they wouldn’t have to start from scratch on their friendship with Dean holding all the memory cards - both good and bad.  The trepidation brought panic with it which Dean fought hard to hide.  Castiel showed no indication of acknowledging it in any case.  If Castiel remembered him, would he remember why he didn’t trust Dean?  Would it make him leave Dean again?  Dean suddenly knew how much better this partial Castiel was to no Castiel at all and he equally knew he couldn’t save the world again without Cas in some form.  

In an attempt to quell the panic bubbling inside of him, he turned his back on Castiel again, moving more rapidly towards the Impala.  Castiel was forced to jog a little to keep up.

As they buckled in and Dean turned the key, he was aware he had not yet let Castiel answer his question.  He kicked himself for being an insecure selfish douche bag and let the roar of the engine calm his nerves.  He turned to look at the man next to him and saw Castiel looking back at him.  His expression held no anger or irritation, just mild curiosity, as though he was trying to understand Deans reactions.

“Do you still want to know what I remember?” he asked calmly.  

Dean nodded as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot towards the road that would lead them back to the bunker.  Scenery flashed by the window as Castiel spoke, but he kept his eyes on Dean rather than what was passing beyond the confines of the car.

Much of what Castiel remembered were broad themes rather than specific details, though he did remember his role in his garrison and knew he had long been stationed as a guardian over mankind.  

“Are we meeting with the rest of the garrison at the bunker?” Cas looked at Dean expectantly and didn’t blink when Dean swerved sharply to the side of the road in surprise.  

_Shit_ , Dean thought for the umpteenth as he righted the car’s trajectory.  He didn’t know how to handle that question.  Especially not while driving.  Cas had almost destroyed himself with guilt over what had happened in Heaven.  If Dean could pick and choose memories for Castiel to get back, Dean would withhold this one forever to spare him the pain of reliving it again.  And dammit all.  He had already had to watch Cas lose this memory and go through the pain of regaining it when he thought he was Emmanuel.  He also remembered how angry Cas was with him when he tried to protect him from it.  And he had sworn not to lie to Cas again.  If he withheld this, Castiel would have an actual reason not to trust him when he eventually did regain the memory.  

“Dean?”

Dean glanced at Castiel and swore under his breath.  He pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, wishing like Hell he didn’t have to tell Castiel like this, here.  He still wasn’t sure what to tell him.  How much could he handle? How much would he blame Dean if he knew Dean’s part in the whole thing?

Even though he could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, he chickened out and stared straight ahead at a spot in the dirt just beyond the hood of the car.  

“No, we aren’t meeting up with the garrison.”  The silence that followed was empty and expectant.  Dean cleared his throat before continuing.

“There was a war in Heaven, Castiel.  Then there was a bunch of shit that happened after because of it.”  Dean thought of Hester and Inias insisting they could protect Kevin from Dick and his gang only to wind up as Leviathan chow.  No way he could just drop that on Cas.  

“A lot of angels died, including your garrison.  You’re the only one left.”  He chanced a glance at the angel next to him, trying to hide the grimace against his own cowardice as he heard the half truth.  

Castiel’s face was stunned and disbelieving.  “A war?  In Heaven? Against whom?”

“Against itself.  It was a civil war.”

Dean couldn’t bring him to specify Cas’s role in that war as he watched the angel shake his head in mute denial.  Soon Castiel gathered his thoughts enough to respond, “No, the archangels wouldn’t let that happen.  Michael and Raphael are excellent at maintaining order.  Besides, what could angels go to war over?  We obey, we follow orders.  We listen to God’s command.  We don’t rebel.  The last angel to do that was Lucifer and he was cast out.  No angel would dare disobey and risk such a fate.  It makes no sense.”

Castiel’s voice rose a note above his normal gravel at the end of his explanation and the eyes that sought Dean’s were begging him to take back his words.  Dean would have given almost anything not to have to continue, but he knew he couldn’t stop there.  He would try to ease the telling as much as he could.  Damn he wished Sammy was here.  He was so much better at this sensitive emotional crap than Dean was.  “Michael and Raphael are dead.  Well, Raphael is.  Michael is currently keeping Lucifer company in the Cage.  That’s what started the war.  Michael and Lucifer and a lot of other angels were determined to start the apocalypse, humanity be damned.  They used me and Sam to do it.  I, uh,” Dean broke from Castiel’s gaze, “I was supposed to be Michael’s vessel.  Sam was Lucifer’s.  We didn’t exactly agree to their terms and refused to play along.  When we managed to trap Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, there was a power struggle in Heaven.  That’s what the war was about.”

“But why didn’t God step in and reorder Heaven according to his wishes?  Why allow such chaos?”

Damn.  Another question Dean was really hoping Castiel wouldn’t ask.  A flash of Cas on his bender, drinking an entire liquor store to drown the pain of his father’s abandonment echoed through Dean’s memory.  

“God told Joshua he wasn’t interested.  He had no intention of stepping in and stopping the apocalypse or the war.  No one except Joshua knows where he is.”

So far, Dean had answered every question, but managed to skirt the specifics in their roles - particularly Cas’s role - in the lost history he now revealed.  He knew his luck wouldn’t hold.  Soon, Castiel would ask a question pointed enough Dean wouldn’t be able to evade it.  

Sure enough, his next question was one that Dean dreaded, though the question itself was phrased in such a way, Dean was still able to deflect a bit.  

“How did I survive?” Castiel was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed in pain and disbelief.  Dean was thankful he didn’t ask, “How did they die?” or “Who killed them?”  Perhaps he could delay the inevitable for another day.  

“You rebelled.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped to Dean’s face sharply.  “ _What_?” he ground out, the question commanding in its intensity.  Dean instantly flashed to the first time he met Cas.  He had used the same tone to proclaim to Dean and Bobby that he was an angel of the Lord.  He didn’t elaborate on his question, rather, he continued to stare at Dean, waiting for clarification.”

Dean winced, knowing Cas never would have rebelled if it wasn’t for him.  Dean knew he would still have made the same choices. Even today, with all they’d lost, Dean still would choose to fight Michael to his last breath.  But would Cas?  Did Cas still think the sacrifices were worth it?  Certainly, the Castiel sitting next to him with no memory of the events leading up to the decision wouldn’t think so.

Dean remembered arguing with Meg about the logic of telling Cas who he really was when he thought he was Emmanuel.  He told her then the knowledge might break Cas.  Or that Cas would leave Dean again.  That same panic clawed into his gut now.  

Castiel had some memories of his brothers back.  He still had no recollection of Dean.  Logically, there was no reason for Dean to hope the angel would still choose him.  The only thing that kept Castiel by him now was the fact that there was no one else to go back to.

Dean spoke quietly, trying to keep his voice calm as he told Castiel about the angel’s role in guarding the Winchesters.  

“You started to question your orders and who they really came from.  Especially when that...when Uriel,” Dean just barely stopped himself from giving his very colorful description of Castiel’s fellow angel, “broke the devil’s trap and I ended up a fairly close resemblance to ground meat on a gurney for a while.”

For some reason Dean couldn’t even fully explain to himself, he refrained from telling Castiel that they had technically first met in Hell and Castiel had raised him from Perdition.  He told himself he didn’t actually remember the event, so his perspective would have been skewed.  Plus it would be too much for Castiel to take in all at once.  

Both reasons were partially true.  As it was, Dean had only told him a fraction of the story.  The highlights reel of what made Cas throw in his lot with the Winchesters.  It was the most Dean thought _he_ could handle on the side of the road somewhere in Nebraska, much less Castiel.    
Something in his chest twisted at the look of helpless denial on Castiel’s face.  The closest he had seen to it before was when they relayed Joshua’s message that Cas stop looking for God.  

“Dean, what you’re saying, it’s not possible.  Angels are built to obey.  ‘Free Will’ is a human concept.  It does not apply to the Host.”

“It applied to Gabriel and Anna, plus a lot of others.  And obviously that latter category included Lucifer.  And given events of late, I’d say it’s not so much something that doesn’t apply to you, but something that has been stripped from angel-kind by force.”

This brought up new memories for Dean.  Memories too new and fresh to be shared calmly.  So Dean turned from Castiel and restarted the engine, effectively ending the conversation.  As he pulled back onto the road, he looked over at Castiel and his gaze softened.

“Don’t worry, man.  I know how it feels when you have to start again.  We’ll get through this, _together_.”


	5. The Weight on My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas make it back to the bunker. As they look for a way to free Sam from the void, their bond begins to rebuild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay again. I'm going to stop promising specific dates. I got the writing done on time, but editing is kicking my butt. If anyone's following this and wants to help occasionally beta, let me know!

The feeling of being back at the bunker was almost a sigh of relief in itself, even if Dean didn’t translate it to an audible sound.  When he opened the door, the familiarity of _home_ washed over him.  The feeling was still relatively new and didn’t last long when he remembered Sam wasn’t in the bunker, nor would he be unless Dean figured out how to get his brother back, body and soul.

Castiel followed him through the door without a sound.  He hadn’t spoken once over the course of the drive from South Dakota to Kansas and Dean knew with a painful twist in his gut that the only reason the angel didn’t flit off was because he couldn’t.  There wouldn’t have been any point to it even if he could.  With Heaven closed, he couldn’t go home and as far as they knew, there were no other angels left on this side of the gate, except perhaps Metatron, and he had made clear he would play no further role.  For better or worse, Dean was all the angel had.  Dean just wished he didn’t feel so damn guilty about that.  

“Welcome to the bunker - again,” Dean said, spreading his arms wide, trying to paste a cheesy smile to lighten the tension.  Castiel, for his part looked around curiously and simply nodded.

Dean dropped his arms and the smile.  It was too friggin much.  He knew Castiel didn’t want to be here and who could blame him? It was Dean’s fault he was in this shitty situation.  He couldn’t even remember Dean. He had no basis to understand why an angel would sacrifice so much and turn away from everything he knew and basically destroy himself - and Dean wanted to cry because Castiel didn’t even know how many times - just to keep a mere human safe

Dean ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to meet the angel’s eyes and gestured again down the hallway lined with sleeping quarters.  “Your room is this way.”

This time, Castiel did look at Dean, surprise evident on his face. “My...room?”

“Yeah, man, you know, the place where you sleep, or go when you just want your own space.”

“I have a room here?” Confusion lined Castiel’s voice.  “Prior to the accident that shattered my Grace, I was still a full angel, correct?”

Dean nodded, not sure of where this was going.

“Then why would I require a room?  Angels do not need sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have your own space.  This is your home, whether you choose to spend time here or not.  Sammy and I agreed when we found the place, we would always keep a space for you.”

“I see,” But the expression on Castiel’s face indicated anything but.

Not knowing what else to say, Dean turned and started walking towards Cas’s room.  He glanced over his shoulder once to make sure the former angel was following him.  He was.  

When they reached the door in question, Dean opened it and stepped back, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.  “You, uh, weren’t here all that long before, well...” Dean gestured broadly with his hand to encompass all of the man before him.  “Well, before, you know.  Anyway, you didn’t have much of a chance to decorate in here yourself, but I added some stuff before you came last time that I thought you might like.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and stepped inside the room.  Dean couldn’t bring himself to stick around for the verdict and backed away, turning at the last minute towards his own room.  He couldn’t recall if he breathed at all before shutting the door securely behind him.  

When he did breathe, it was in ragged gasps.  It was the first time since Castiel woke up that Dean was apart from the angel - save the periodic bathroom breaks - and Dean found each moment was pulling him further and further apart by the seams.  

He couldn’t tell what Castiel was thinking.  The angel in front of him was at once his Cas and not.  This was the Cas he met back in Pontiac.  The one with full faith in Heaven and his mission.  The one who had not yet come to cherish his own choices.  The one who did not yet know Dean or the Winchesters or all that they had been through together - good and bad.  Dean had told him some, yeah, but hardly all.  Their friendship had been built slowly and often painfully over the years.  It had been stretched, pulled and tested almost every way possible.  How did you just explain that to someone and expect them to understand?  

Dean was terrified of losing his best friend again before even getting him back.  What if he told Cas their whole history and he decided Dean was a jinx, or a stain upon his Grace?  It’s not like Dean hadn’t thought those things before himself.  Would he just walk away again?

Dean would give anything to have his brother here, now, with him.  Of course Sam would probably insist Dean talk about his feelings, which he wasn’t prepared to do - especially with his brother - but the very act of deflection and easy banter that would accompany it would have helped to ground him, help him focus on his priorities.  

But he didn’t have Sam, and the fact remained that he needed Castiel to help him get his brother back.  “Cas, man, I don’t know what to do.”  Dean sat on the edge of his bed, the same way he had for months before when it first became clear the trials were having a toll on Sam and Cas was nowhere to be found.  The prayer now came almost without thought or intention - just an automatic need for Dean to connect.  

He ran his hand over his face, somewhat surprised when it came away damp.

“Do I tell you everything? I want to trust that you won’t leave, but you’re not exactly you.  I can’t lose you, man.  Not again.  I -,”Dean hesitated.  He always found it easier to tell Cas the things he needed to say through prayer than to his face, but there were some admissions he was having trouble making to himself.  “I’m not sure I can do this on my own.  I don’t think I’m strong enough.  I need you.”

Dean felt the familiar tingling in his arm, though he wasn’t expecting it.  Where the last sensation had felt angry, this one felt comforting, like an embrace.  Dean welcomed it like a balm for a moment before getting up to seek the source of the humming that again accompanied the tingle.  

He found the feather in the corner of the room.  It was the direction Dean’s back had faced each time he had prayed over the past year with no response from his friend.  He had come to recognize the places he found feathers were places linked to Cas in some way.  The trench coat, the back seat of the Impala and Spirit Mound all seemed logical locations to Dean.  What did it mean then that this feather was in his room?   _Had_ Cas come to listen to his prayers?  Had he watched over Dean as he slept?  Dean found the thought at once comforting and friggin’ depressing.  

Despite what he had told Cas when the angel had offered to watch over him, he found it nice to know the angel had been there for him anyway.  That he had never fully abandoned Dean.  It was depressing because Dean realized it took away a lot of what he had accused the angel of before the battle, which really proved he was even more of an asshat than he thought.  

Dean held the feather between his fingers and whispered a soft, “I’m sorry, man,” before heading back to find Castiel.  Though he might have imagined it, he thought the light of the feather seemed to pulse a bit in response.

 

* * *

 

Castiel looked around the room with a mild curiosity.  He sensed, rather than heard, Dean leave.  The room had a bed, over which hung several artistic renderings of bees from a naturalist’s point of view; the kind that labeled each part in meticulous hand drawn precision.  It was likely just convention that had prompted Dean to include the bed since as a full angel, he would not have needed it.  Castiel supposed he would learn to be grateful for it now.  Already he could feel the unfamiliar weariness of the day pressing down on him.  He did not wish to sleep yet though.  He continued to peruse the room.  

The entirety of one wall was filled with books of varying subjects, from history, to spellwork, to mythology.  Castiel fingered the spines and marveled at the age of some of them.  He pulled one old English text off the shelf and realized he recognized the handwriting of the Venerable Bede himself.  Castiel found it disconcerting that he could know the handwriting of a long dead historian, but he couldn’t remember anything about the man he supposedly rebelled against Heaven for.  

Dean was an enigma to Castiel.  The angel had no reason not to believe what he said, except for the very fact that everything he told Castiel about the past few years - about his own life - was utterly impossible.  And yet...there was an earnestness about Dean.  A brightness in his soul.  The edges of that brightness were ragged, as though the man had been torn and pulled and frayed over a long period of time.  In the humans he’d observed since waking, and those few he recalled noticing when stationed with his garrison (though that number was few - individual humans rarely stood out to him in his limited recollection), they all had souls with soft edges and paler lights; lights that appeared more like a lamp’s glow when compared with that of the sun.  It took powerful forces and extreme hardship to tear a soul.  The fact that Dean’s still shone bright and more pure than any other Castiel could remember seeing, even if at the moment the number was not high, was a testament to the character of the man.  It drew the angel in like a moth to a flame.  Instinctively, when Dean told him he was a friend, Castiel believed him.

He also knew Dean had omitted a great deal from the story he had shared with Castiel.  Whether that was to absolve the human or the angel, he wasn’t sure, but he did intend to find out.  For the moment however, Castiel welcomed the respite on his own to wrap his head around what he had learned.  

He was looking through a volume of Greek mythology when Dean returned.  When Castiel looked up, he saw a ghost of a smile on the hunter’s face as he looked at the book in the angel’s hands.  There was an underlying emotion Castiel could not identify there as well.  

“You used to like going through those at Bobby’s and complain about everything they got wrong.  Thought you might like having them here.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, latching onto any information he could regarding his still missing memories.  “Who’s Bobby?”

There was a sharp, distinct look of pain on Dean’s face before he shuttered it.  

“He was another friend.”  Dean cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“So, I, ah, I found another feather.”  He held it out towards Cas, who nodded and stepped forward to meet him.  

As Dean let go of the feather, it hung suspended in the air for a moment before being absorbed into Castiel’s chest.  The last thing he felt as the edges of the world began to fade away were Dean’s arms wrapped around him, gently holding him up, rather than allowing him to fall.

 

* * *

 

After laying Castiel out on the bed, Dean stood back and just watched the angel for a few minutes.  Perhaps longer, he wasn’t quite sure; the only thing he was sure about was the steady rise and fall of the angel’s chest as he slept off the latest information download.  Eventually, he couldn’t take it any more.  Whatever Castiel remembered or decided to do next was out of Dean’s control and standing here like a creeper wasn’t going to change that fact.  

Feeling the need to be productive in some way, Dean headed towards the library.  He doubted research would help to burn off his nervous energy, he was a man of action and would rather be hunting down Crowley or at least cooking something.  The former would not be accomplished without the aforementioned research and as for cooking, Dean wasn’t sure he could actually stomach food at the moment.  

He did at least stop off in the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.  He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.  While the coffee started to brew, Dean tried to make a mental list of places he could start checking.  The problem was that the situation they were in was entirely unprecedented.   

When the carafe had filled enough for a decent sized mug, Dean pulled it from it’s place and began to pour. He doubted the Men of Letters had a book on what to do when Heaven shut down or Google would return a search on how to bring a soul back from another plane of existence. As soon as the thought entered Dean’s head, he swore loudly and slammed the carafe back in place before heading with a purpose to the library, mug in hand.  

Perhaps their situation wasn’t so unprecedented after all.  He was no closer on an answer to how he would _find_ Sammy, but twice now, he and Sammy had carried souls across alternate planes - specifically Purgatory.  He had carried Benny back and Sam himself had ferried Bobby across.  Buoyed by the idea that he had _something_ to work with, even if he still didn’t know how to find Sam to start with, physically or astrally, at least he had a plan to get him back.  

So Dean spent the next hour looking through every book he could find on alternate planes or dimensions.  Nothing in his research netted any results for a plane called the Void.  He tried other possible names, the blackness, the space, even looked up _N_ _everwhere_ , but as he suspected, that just earned him a lot of Neil Gaiman hits and nothing useful.  

He had no idea how many hours later, or how many cups of coffee he had gone through when he looked up and started at the sight of Castiel in the doorway.

“Cas - Castiel!  Sorry, I didn’t hear you get up, man.  So you’re awake?  You feeling ok?” Dean wanted to whack himself upside the head just to make himself shut up.  He knew he was babbling, but he was nervous around Castiel in a way he had never been before.  He didn’t know where they stood and that left him unbalanced.  

Castiel just cocked his head to the side and studied Dean as though what he saw intrigued him.  “When I first woke up, you called me as Cas before telling me my name was Castiel.  I presume this was some form of nickname, however, you have refrained from addressing me as such again.  Is there a reason for this?”  

Dean blinked.  Of all the questions the angel could have asked, that was the last one Dean expected.  “I dunno, man.  I guess I started calling you Castiel again when I realized you didn’t remember me.  Nicknames are for people you know, that you’re close with.  I guess it just didn’t seem right when you didn’t have a clue who I was.”

“But you stated we were friends, correct?  Does this fact change because I do not yet have the memories of that friendship?”

“What? No! Of course not.”  Dean stumbled over his words, trying to reassure Castiel while trying to explain Dean’s method of distinction.  “You, we...We are friends.  Dammit, you were - are - my best friend.  It’s just, I don’t know, with the memories you have right now, you’re a lot more like the Castiel I first met.  Before all the shit went down with Heaven.  You changed a lot over the last couple years.  I guess it’s just my way of distinguishing old you and now you.”

Though when Dean thought about it, he had starting referring to Castiel as Cas almost immediately.  Was that one of the first changes?  Was that what started pulling Cas away from the Host and connecting him to the Winchesters?  Dean had looked up the name once, just out of curiosity.  He knew the ‘iel’ suffix meant, ‘of God’ but Dean rarely referred to him that way.  Had this subtle change been enough to sow the seeds of doubt?  A new name, a new identity?  

“Would you like me to start calling you Cas again?” Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about it.  On the one hand, it was something that linked this version of Castiel to him, connected them with something he gave the angel.  On the other hand, when Dean mentally thought of Cas, that was who he prayed to.  The part of the angel that knew Dean.  Then again, wasn’t that exactly what this Cas was trying to do too?  

The thoughts went round and round in Dean’s head, making him a little dizzy and he almost missed the angel’s soft, “Yes.  I think I would like that.”

Oh.  Well then.  

“Ok.  Cas it is then.” Dean smiled weakly at the angel, who smiled back.  It was a start.  

Dean cleared his throat.  “So, any new memories?”

Castiel - Cas - nodded.  “They are...disjointed.  Some seem more recent, but others are clearly from several millennia ago.  I also believe I now remember the European Renaissance, though the name is hardly fitting in context with world history.  It will...take time...to sort through them.”  

He stared intently at Dean and Dean noticed there was significantly more behind it now than there was after Cas had woken up the first time three days ago.  He also seemed able to read Dean’s unspoken question.  “There are still no memories of you or our friendship.  Though I do believe I might be starting to get fragments of events you mentioned earlier.  I will need to examine them more closely to be sure.”

Dean’s shoulders sagged a bit, in relief or disappointment, he wasn’t sure.  Maybe a little of both.  “Well, if you need any help sorting it out, let me know. Don’t know how much good it will do, but I was there for some of it.”

Cas nodded and looked down to the books spread out in front of Dean.  “Perhaps I can help you as well.  May I assist you in your research?  I presume this pertains to the accident that resulted in my lost memories and the fate of your brother?”

Dean looked at Cas in surprise.  He hadn’t realized the angel had picked up on so much.  Since he had woken up, Dean largely avoided discussing the events that had landed them in their current situation, guilt preventing him from doing so.  

Slowly he nodded.  Guess it was time to pay the piper.  He needed Cas’s help and that meant explaining to Cas how he had screwed up again.  He took a deep breath trying to figure out how far back to start.  The tablets?  But then how to explain the angel tablet and the mind control?  Purgatory?  That’s how Cas was nabbed by Naomi.  But then did he explain how they got to Purgatory?  Their whole history just seemed like a litany of one bad choice or rotten situation after the other.  One just a stepping stone to the next.  Would they ever be allowed to have peace?  Or at least just a return to the simple life of ganking a wendigo or vamp and not having to worry about world ending scenarios?  Would Dean ever be able to tell Cas he loved him and have him stay because the universe wasn’t pulling them apart?  

Steeling himself, Dean began talking.  He started with the discovery of the demon tablet and chose, for now, to brush over Purgatory.  For the most part, Cas remained silent, listening. Dean forced himself to look Cas in the eye while he told the story, needed to gauge the angel’s reaction.  Needed to know if anything he said might prompt the angel to leave again.  So he saw the look of amazement that flashed through his eyes at the mention of the Word of God.  He explained the trials.  About how they were supposed to be his responsibility.    

“I screwed up.  Sam ended up taking on the trials.  About halfway through, Crowley discovered the existence of another tablet.  An angel tablet.  This one explained how to close the doors of Heaven.”  The stunned expression on Cas’s face almost made Dean feel as though Dean had kicked down his sandcastle.  The walls had already begun to crumble, waves of doubt threatened, spawned from what Dean had told him that morning on the side of a lonely highway. Now they were gone and Castiel was laid bare.

“ _Why_? Why would you want to close the doors of Heaven?  And how did this Crowley discover the tablet?”

“Cas.  I don’t know much about Heaven before they started interfering in our lives.  But from what you’ve told a great deal has changed.  God is missing.  He’s got no interest in restoring order.  We stopped the apocalypse and there are a lot of angels that aren’t happy with that.  Several have tried to restart it again.  We’ve been fighting them for five years - you right along with us.  Usually at least. What we wanted to do - what we _tried_ to do, was give Earth a chance.  To go day to day without the constant threat of destruction just because it was caught in the middle of some stupid pissing match between Heaven and Hell.  

“ _Crowley_ ,” Dean said the name with as much derision as he could, “became the new King of Hell after we shut Lucifer in the cage.  He was formerly King of the Crossroads.”

Cas nodded again, “A deal demon.”

“Yeah.  So, um.  Crowley kidnapped an angel.  One of the good ones.”  Cas just continued to look at him, so Dean continued.  “He grabbed Samandriel and tortured him.”

Pain, sharp and acute flashed through Castiel’s eyes.  “Samandriel?  But Samandriel was so young!  Why was he on earth to begin with?  How could have been captured?  He was _pure_.”  

“I don’t know how he got him.  Or what exactly he did to him.  We tried to rescue him.  Got him out, but...”

Dean didn’t want to continue.  Was this really necessary to the story?  It might at least help Cas understand why he had joined them in closing Heaven.  But he was loathe to do anything to bring more pain to Cas’s eyes.  Wished he could share a happy memory instead.  Wanted to save part of his angel’s castle.    
“But _what_ , Dean?  What happened to Samandriel?”

“Before I tell you, there are things you have to understand.  Things we didn’t know at the time...” Dean took a deep breath.  “Do you know the name Naomi?”

Cas didn’t and Dean wasn’t surprised.  Haltingly, Dean told him what had happened.  He didn’t try to sugarcoat it, but he did emphasize that Cas was not under his own control.  He saw it the moment the angel had heard too much.  

Cas pushed back the chair he was sitting in and stood up quickly.  He looked around wildly as though seeking another information source that would deny what Dean had told him.  Seeing none, he simply turned and walked out of the room.  

Dean watched him go, unsure if he should follow or let Cas leave.  Either way, the sight of Cas’s back as he walked away from Dean again twisted like a knife in his chest.  He dropped his head into his hands and muttered, “Way to go Winchester.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t know where to go.  Every part of his mind screamed _No! This can’t be true!_ Every part of him _wanted_ to reject what Dean told him.  How could he trust this human over every instinct he had?  And yet...and yet... something inside him, not quite a voice, not even an instinct, but something strong and powerful screamed that Dean was telling the truth.  That Dean could be trusted above all others.  That Dean was important.  This wasn’t a memory.  This was something more.  As though it was knowledge carved into the very bones of his vessel.  Something that could not be erased.  

So Castiel believed the impossible.  Believed that he rebelled from Heaven.  Believed that there was a civil war.  Believed that one of Heaven’s servants tortured one of their own - that was not entirely unheard of - and ordered the death of another.  What had Heaven become?  What happened to the order and love and beauty of his home?  Yes, he could see how he might come to reject a Heaven like this.  He could begin to see the value of free will over the destruction of all he admired in his Father’s creation.  

But how did any of this help him cope with trying to _understand_ it?

He supposed the only solution he had at the moment was to continue pushing forwards, attempting to regain the memories he’d lost.  For that he would need Dean’s help.  And it seemed Dean needed his as well.  After about ten minutes of inner turmoil, Castiel returned to the library.

The sight he took in was that of a man broken and bleeding. Dean had clearly not returned to his research.  Instead, his arms were propped on his knees and his face was hidden in his hands.  There was a tension in his shoulders that indicated he carried an invisible weight that was slowly crushing him.  Castiel saw all of this and wondered at it.  How was this man still standing after even a fraction of the story he had relayed to Cas?  He was only human.  Such a heavy load should have killed him.  Castiel looked again at the brightness of Dean’s soul.  It seemed dimmer now than it had before, almost as though it was resigned to something.  

Castiel - _no, not Castiel, I'm Cas, I’m Cas now_ , he thought, surprised at how the name settled on him and soothed him.  Cas must have made some small noise, because the man in front of him looked up.  Dean’s eyes were red rimmed, but the moment they landed on the angel, the hunter’s soul visibly brightened again, surging with relief and something Cas couldn’t identify.  The expression on his face however, remained the same.  

“Cas! I, I didn’t know... I thought you might have left.”  

Cas looked at Dean, confused.  “Why would I leave? I found the information - overwhelming - and needed a moment to process.  Besides, where would I go?”

Cas thought he detected a flash of disappointment but couldn’t determine what he might have said to cause it before it was gone.  “I apologize for leaving so abruptly.  Please continue with your summary of events.  I believe you said you’d discovered the angel tablet and that I was being controlled.”

Dean nodded slowly and Cas watched him carefully, sensing the man was pulling the next words up from a place locked deep inside that he would rather forget.  “Yeah,” the voice came out quietly, no more than a whisper, before Dean cleared his throat and began again, stronger.  “Yeah.  You were being controlled by Naomi.  Had been since...well, for a couple months I guess.  That day with Samandriel is when Sam and I really started to suspect something though.  You just weren’t you.  So we figured out where the angel tablet was and we went together to get it.”

Cas interrupted, though he was loathe to do so, afraid to stop Dean’s momentum.  “You knew I was being controlled but you willingly took me with you to get the tablet.  Why?  That doesn’t make sense.  It’s a strategically unsound decision.”  

Dean looked confused by the question, though Cas wasn’t sure why.  It seemed obvious.  

“Because you’re my - our - friend.  More than friend, Cas, you’re family.  If something was going on with you, better to have you close where we could keep an eye on you.  Help you if we could.  We weren’t just gonna leave you, man. Especially if you were in trouble.”  

In a flash of understanding, Castiel saw one of the pillars of Dean’s character.  Loyalty - to a fault, if what the story the man was telling him was any indication.  Idly Cas wondered if that was all that prompted Dean to care for Cas now.  Was it nothing more than a sense of duty?  For some reason, this thought shot a pang of emotion through his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.  He pushed it aside and nodded at Dean to continue.

“Well, turns out taking you to the crypt where we found the tablet was a good thing - in the long run at least.” Dean ran a hand along his jaw as though remembering a phantom pain.  “Naomi had trained you to kill me, but when it mattered, you couldn’t.  Your refusal broke the control she held over you.”  

Cas narrowed his eyes, not missing the way Dean chose to abbreviate this part of the story and wanted to know why, but opted not to ask for now.  

“Then you, you left,” Dean’s voice caught slightly before continuing. “Said you had to protect the tablet.  By that time, Sam had already completed one of the trials and he wasn’t doing so well.  Still had two more to go, but Kevin hadn’t finished translating the tasks yet.  About a month later you showed back up, but Crowley had already gotten to you first.  He took the tablet, but you were messed up pretty bad.  We brought you here. By then, we’d found Metatron and Sam completed the second task.  Metatron gave us this vague worthless bullshit about being prepared for consequences if we shut the doors, but not bothering to tell us what they were.  Then, you know, having been the one to write the tablet and all, decided he’d be so kind to tell us what was on it.  Then he vanished without sticking around to see what happened.  Really I don’t think he gives two shits about Heaven or Earth.  Damn recluse.  I’ve wondered more than once if he told us just to observe the fallout.”  

Dean shot a look of anger at the table as though it had personally offended him.  

“What were the trials to close Heaven?”  Cas asked.  Dean had explained the trials to close Hell, but it was not his Father’s way to create trials for his followers in order to achieve a goal.  Those were the practices of the older gods.  God demanded acts of faith from his followers.  And if followers had faith in God, why then would they want to close Heaven? Surely it was a failsafe meant to prevent this very situation.  

Dean was quiet as he continued to stare down at the table.  Eventually he spoke, his voice low.  “An act of trust, restoring a fallen angel’s Grace, accepting divine assistance, and forgiveness.”  He did not elaborate.  Cas was sure there was more.  Trust and forgiveness seemed common among humans - how could they be keys to closing Heaven?  He had no memory of a fallen angel’s Grace being restored and wasn’t sure it was possible - though it seemed Dean was attempting to accomplish that very thing now with Castiel’s own Grace.  It was clear the memories of the trials had left their mark on Dean and Cas decided not to push for now.  Now it was more important to catch up to what brought them to this moment.  

“And after the trials were complete?”

“There was a specific ceremony that needed to be performed in front of a gateway.  Spirit Mound was our best option and we decided to close both doors at the same time.  Let’s just say the kickback was a little harder than we expected.  Sam,” Dean’s voice cracked and Cas watched the pain wash over the hunter’s face like a wave.  It was clear to Cas the brother’s were close.

Dean continued, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped in front of him looking at the ground as he spoke.  “Sam was hit by Hell’s blast. Killed instantly I suppose. I should have been hit by Heaven’s. I should have died too, except...”

“Except?” Cas tilted his head to the side.  How had Dean survived?

Green eyes looked up and locked with blue.  Cas saw they were red rimmed and wet.  “Except you stepped in the way.  Shielded me with your Grace.  According to Death, since you’re a celestial being, the blast from Heaven couldn’t _kill_ you, but it tore your wings and scattered your Grace,” Dean stopped, shoulders hunched, braced, and he still watched Cas almost warily, as though he waited for censure.  Cas wasn’t sure where from though.  Dean had spoken a great deal about free will.  If Castiel had _chosen_ to step in front of Dean, chosen to save Dean, there must have been a reason.  And it would have been Cas’s reason.  How was Dean to blame for the repercussion of power from both Heaven and Hell?  How could he have stopped that?  How could he have stopped _Cas_?

He frowned, not in anger, but in an attempt to clarify the point.  “You blame yourself.”

Dean looked up, his expression indicating the statement should have been obvious fact. “Of course.”

“Why?”

Dean stood up and began pacing. “Why? _Why_?  It’s my damn fault for not being strong enough to take on the demon trials. If I had been, I would have been standing in front of Hell’s door.  It’s my damn fault you lost your Grace.  If it weren’t for me, you’d still have your memories and your powers.  I still don’t understand why you did it.” Dean was breathing heavily by the time he finished.  

Cas cocked his head to the side and examined Dean.  Here was another pillar of this man’s personality made clear to the angel.  “You don’t believe you are worthy of being saved.”

For some reason, the question stopped Dean in his tracks and he huffed a small laugh.  He looked at Cas, sadness in his eyes.  “Old argument, Cas”

Dean sat down again the story was pretty much done now.  Dean brought Cas up to speed on what Death had told him.

“It’s unsurprising you were not able to find any research related to the Void,” Castiel said.  “It’s rarely referred to in such terms.  Technically speaking, it’s the space of crossing.  The river Styx, to give it a name you might be more familiar with. Reapers may use the crossing to go in any of the directions they need, Heaven, Hell, or even Purgatory, though only creatures you would deem to be monsters are sent there.”

“Yeah, not really.  Been there, done that, bought the shirt.”  

Dean’s response, drew Cas’s eyes to him sharply.  “I don’t understand.”

“Been to Purgatory.  You have too.”  

Cas had no response.  Clearly he would need to redefine the term _impossible_.  

“So the river Styx, huh? Any suggestion on how to find it, or pull someone out without actually dying?”    

“If I were at full capacity, I would be able to cross through the veil.  At the moment however, that capability is beyond me.”  

“Well.  We have a whole library here.  Surely we can find something.  Now that I know what I’m looking for, should be easier.”  

Cas looked at the man in front of him.  He knew Dean had not slept since they left Sioux Falls early that morning.  Since then, he had been in a skirmish, driven several hours and forced to recall memories filled with pain.  His eyes held a tightness born from pain and exhaustion.  “Dean.  It is now close to three in the morning.  By my calculation, you have not slept in at least twenty one hours.  Perhaps you should go to bed?  I can continue looking.”  

Dean just shook his head.  “Not until I figure out how to get to Sammy.”

Cas pursed his lips, but did not argue.  

 

* * *

 

Despite Dean’s insistence, Cas returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee an hour later, only to find the hunter with his head down on a book, mouth slightly open.  Castiel drew up short and watched Dean.  Awake, he was a bundle of emotions, edgy, tense, and burdened by the weight of his cares.  Asleep, his face relaxed and he appeared several years younger.  Castiel felt a surge of protectiveness, though he wasn’t sure where it originated from.  Was this from the same source within him that told him to trust Dean?  Was it because he now knew he had fought to protect Dean before?  Or was this simply because of _his_ desire to see this man, whom he was starting to know and recognize as _good_ , happy?  

He hesitated, trying to decide if he should move Dean.  Cas didn’t want to risk waking him, but his understanding of human physiology led him to believe if he left Dean in his current position, he would experience discomfort in the morning.  The thought of Dean in pain decided him.  He carefully slipped one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder and pulled him upright.  Castiel staggered for a moment in an attempt to catch his balance as he realized he was not as strong as his memories led him to believe.  Clearly another side effect of the loss of his Grace.  He found it irritating to regain the memories of abilities, but not the abilities themselves.   

Slowly, he moved towards the couch that lined the wall, grateful that Dean seemed tired enough not to wake up during the process.  After settling him on the couch, Cas looked around the room until he found a blanket to lay over the slumbering hunter.  Dean rolled to his side, but otherwise, made no indication he was aware of his change in position.  

Returning to the table, Cas glanced down at the book Dean had been looking at when he fell asleep.  A quick read through had Castiel convinced Dean was on to something and was simply too tired to have seen it.  The spell would require an artifact that connected the brothers, so Castiel would have to wait until Dean awoke to be certain it would work.  There was also the matter of finding Sam’s body.  This spell could bring Sam out of the Void, but it would do little good if the soul lacked a host.  Unfortunately, in this regard, Castiel was lost.  He had no memories of the demon Crowley from which to guess what his next move might be.  It irked the strategist in him to have such a blind spot.  

For now though, there was little he could do.  As his vessel had recovered twice that day with the return of feathers, he did not currently require sleep.  Though Cas was sure his time might be spent more wisely by doing additional research, he found he was content instead to simply watch Dean sleep.  

 

* * *

 

Dean awoke groggy and disoriented.  When had he fallen asleep?  And how did he get on the couch?  He glanced around and jumped when he saw Cas sitting on a chair nearby, staring at him.  He huffed a laugh.  He should have known.  Two years ago, Dean would have told Cas not to watch him when he slept.  Now, he was so damn grateful to have the angel close enough to do it, he wasn’t going to complain.  

“So I guess I fell asleep after all, huh?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, kicking himself for stating the obvious.  

“Yes.  I suspect you needed it.  You should limit how much you push yourself.”  

“Yeah, sometimes we don’t have a choice.”  He stood up and rolled his shoulders, each one cracking in a way they wouldn’t have ten years ago.  “Did you find anything?”

“Yes actually.”

Dean’s eyes flew to Cas’s, hope filling his chest for the first time in days.  “You did?  What? Where?” He turned to the books, automatically scanning those that were open in an attempt to find what Cas had found.

Cas pointed to the spell in question, and Dean began reading as Cas summarized his plan.  “The problem will be locating Sam’s body before we complete the spell,” Cas said in conclusion.

Dean waved his hand to indicate that problem had already been taken care of.  “We don’t need his body first.  A soul can be carried by another host.  Sam and I have done it twice before to ferry people out of Purgatory.”

“Dean,” Cas frowned, “Carrying another soul is a heavy burden.  Even if you carried a soul across a border, that soul will permanently leave it’s mark on you, whether you intend it to or not.  To carry a second soul for an extended period of time, would eventually crush your own.  Both souls would ultimately struggle for dominance in the same vessel.  Only one would win - if you are very lucky.  If not, both would be eradicated.”  

“It’s a chance I have to take.  He’s my _brother_ , Cas.  I raised him, I looked after him and I’ve _already let him die before_.  I need him back.  I can bear the weight on my soul. I can’t bear the weight on my conscience if I don’t do this. Besides.  It won’t be for long.  I know Crowley’s sick sense of humor.  I have suspicion I know exactly where he buried Sam’s body.”  Dean glared at the angel and dared him to contradict him.  

Castiel must have read the resolution in his eyes for he just grunted and said, “Very well.  However, someday in the near future, you are going to have to sit down and explain your whole history because I don’t understand how Sam could have already died once before.  The more I learn, the more you and your brother move out of my realm of understanding.”  

Dean grinned at the angel.  “Thanks, man.  Always good to have you at my back.  Now, what do we need for this spell?”

Cas pursed his lips a moment in thought before beginning.  “The spell is fairly basic.  It’s a scrying spell.  This one is unique because it scryes across the various planes.  Wherever your brother is, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or somewhere in between, this spell will locate him.  If we combine it with a powerful enough summoning spell, we should be able to pull him across.  However,”

Dean should have known there was a but coming.  There was always a catch.  He squared his shoulders, waiting to hear what the angel had to drop on him.  

“However, you will need a token.  Something that connects both of you in a very powerful manner.  It can’t simply be an item of Sam’s like with a typical scrying spell.”

Dean felt his face split into a huge grin.  He knew, _knew_ now that this was going to work.  He knew because Death had known.  Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out the amulet he had put back into its rightful place as soon as he woke up at Jody’s.  

“No problem.  I have what we need right here.”  

Cas looked at the amulet in surprise as though he could feel the power pulsing from it.  “Dean, this charm might somehow link you to Sam, but it is also a powerful scrying charm in and of itself.  Created specifically to locate lost souls and beings of higher power.”    
“Well, that explains why you borrowed it at least,” Dean said, partially under his breath.

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion and Dean’s gaze softened.  “You borrowed it in an attempt to find God when you first started having doubts.  Before Joshua told us he didn’t want to be found,” Dean explained gently.

Cas’s face cleared of all expression and he simply nodded.  Dean wanted to kick himself.  There was no need to have mentioned that.  Especially when Cas had just told him how to get his brother back.  “Sorry, man.  That was a douchey thing for me to bring up,” he said quietly, looking down and off to the side.

“No, Dean.  It’s alright.  It’s a memory, and I need all the memories I can get.  I can’t expect them all to be pleasant.”  

Dean looked into Cas’s eyes, searching for confirmation of his words.  There was a dim sadness, but no deception; Dean breathed a little easier.  

Before long, the two of them had the scrying circle drawn out on the floor of one of the dungeons.  Dean stood in the center of the circle with a silver blade out, ready to cut his forearm in order to allow Sam to piggy back his soul until they were able to find his body.  Cas held up the amulet, chanting in a mix of enochian and latin, his deep voice reverberating off the concrete and steel walls.  

The circle started to glow with a bluish light.  Cas’s voice continued to chant.  The glow began to coalesce into a loose ball of what Dean could only describe as energy.  As it did, he cut his arm, adding his voice to Cas’s to pull Sam more firmly into this realm and encourage him into the space provided.  The ball of light descended into his forearm, and his veins pulsed visibly with its presence.  

Before long, Dean felt it settle and Cas’s voice cut out.  The angel was immediately at his side with a bandage to wrap the wound.  “I’m sorry I can’t do more Dean.”

“No, Cas, thank you.” Dean smiled as he looked down at his arm, feeling the fullness within him as his brother took temporary residence.  The weight of carrying Sammy was familiar and welcome.  Dean was one step closer to getting him back for good this time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Metatron...This fic was outlined and planned out before his douchebaggery was fully revealed. Since I'm still severely pissed at him, he will not be making more than a passing reference in this story. So yeah, that's not cannon and I don't care!


	6. It's the Price that I Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and his angel have regained Sam's soul, but now they need his body. Along the way, they recover memories Dean would rather forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! The boys did not want to cooperate this chapter and I hit a really bad couple of days. I hope you think it was worth the wait!
> 
> THANK YOU to the lovely drownedinblissfulconfusion for the beta!

As Sam’s soul settled within Dean, Dean felt the weight like a physical burden.  His whole body felt heavier and sluggish as though he had reached the extreme end of exhaustion.  Given the events of the past week, and how little sleep he had gotten from his impromptu nap, Dean was sure his own weariness didn’t help the sensation.

He was aware of Cas’s worried gaze, as though the angel expected Dean to shatter in front of his eyes.  Dean wanted to laugh and assure Cas this was nothing - he’d experienced far worse - but he was too friggin’ tired.  

The effects of carrying Sam were far different from those of carrying Benny.  When the vampire had jumped soul, they were in the middle of escaping Purgatory.  The Leviathan were on their tail with the portal tantalizingly close in front of them.  Adrenaline and fear had surged through his veins, fueling his energy.  And then he’d lost Cas - again.  

Of course Dean now knew that was the angel’s choice.  At the time though, all Dean had felt was self-hatred at his own failure.  He had _promised_ to get Cas out of that place and he hadn’t been able to do it.  The pain of that loss, plus the relief of escaping the oppressive atmosphere in Purgatory, had further minimized the consequences of soul sharing once back on earth.  

Now Dean didn’t have any of those buffers, just the next task.  He ran his hand down his face as he tried to shake the heaviness in his limbs.  “Well, that’s done,” he said, surprised at the deeper, tenor of his voice.  “I think I need to lie down for a bit though.”

Cas stepped forward, his arms outstretched towards Dan in an attempt to help, but Dean waved him off.  “I’m fine, Cas.  Thanks, man, really.  I just - I just need a little shut eye and I’ll be right as rain.”

Cas eyed him, looking as though he knew Dean was putting on a show and wasn’t going to fall for his bull for a second.  Thankfully, he didn’t call Dean on it.  Instead, he nodded and stepped backwards.  

“Very well, Dean.”

Dean looked at the angel contemplatively for a moment.  “Look, I don’t know how long I’m going to be crashed.  Feel free to look around.  This is your home too - you should get to know the place.”

Castiel looked a little taken aback, still seemingly surprised to find he had a home among humans, but he nodded again.  “Thank you.”

Dean watched him for a couple more seconds, his eyes boring into Cas’s.  He wasn’t sure why he was so unwilling to let Cas out of his sight.  Maybe, a small part of him was afraid that now Cas was stronger, he would decide to leave while Dean was asleep.  Finally, he tore his eyes away and turned to shuffle down the hallway.  As he made his way back to his room, his feet dragged along the ground as though made of lead, while one hand trailed along the wall seeking a light support.   _Please still be here when I wake up Cas.  I need you, man._ Dean sent up the prayer to the Cas he knew could still remember him, hoping somehow, he could influence the Cas that didn’t.  A comforting sensation flowed from his shoulder through his body, lightening the worst of the ache and easing some of the pressure Dean hadn’t even realized had settled on his chest.  The prayer wasn’t accompanied with the hum he associated with a new feather, but the acknowledgement of the prayer welcome nonetheless.  It assured Dean that Cas was still out there watching him.  That maybe he really did want to come back and stay.  

Dean made it to his room, but he was too tired to bother changing out of his clothes, or even removing his shoes.  He simply crashed forward onto the bed, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.  

 

* * *

 

Cas watched Dean go and fought the urge to follow the hunter.  In the week since Cas had woken up, he had seen this human shoulder burdens many angels would shun.  Yet he had not complained.  Castiel could look into Dean’s eyes and see the pain and the sorrow, and every part of him screamed _protect this man - he is worthy_.  It was clear Dean did not agree.  

Cas wondered at the cause of that.  What could make a man with such a capacity for caring, for doing so much for those around him, feel he did not deserve reciprocation?  Hands at his side, Castiel looked around the library as though it held the answers.   Looking around, his eyes landed on a small stack of leather journals.  Cas walked over and saw each of the journals was clearly worn and oft used, but well cared for nonetheless.  He reached for the one on top.  

The brown leather was butter soft, having clearly been frequently handled over many years.  The cover opened easily to reveal a three ring binder style set up inside.  The front flap was decorated with a few medals Castiel assumed represented some form of military service and embossed with a bold “HW”.  There was a pocket that contained a worn envelope addressed to “John Winchester” and two pictures, one of a blonde woman and one of two small boys - one of whom Cas recognized as a younger version of Dean.  

His attention turned to the first entry, “1983, November 18.  I went to Missouri, and learned the truth...”  Not taking his eyes from the page, Cas slowly backed up until his legs hit the couch Dean had slept on the night before.  He sank into the cushions and continued to read.  

He recognized quickly the journal must have at one time belonged to Dean’s father.  Though the book in his hands was largely dedicated to hunting and descriptions of supernatural creatures, there were many insights into Dean’s character and the kind of life he must have lead growing up.  While Cas had recognized that Dean’s familiarity with the supernatural was extensive, he had not realized how all encompassing it had been to his life.  Dean had been four years old when his mother died.  Shortly after, John wrote that Dean often crawled into Sam’s crib as though wanting to keep him safe.  Cas could tell Dean had been protecting his brother ever since.  

It was less than a month after his mother’s death that Dean had watched his father kill a shapeshifter.  By his fifth birthday his father was teaching him to strip guns.  Cas read all this and realized that, like him, Dean had been brought up to be his father’s soldier.  He continued to read and saw how as soon as Dean had started to take care of his father - as he had immediately done with Cas, as he had clearly done with Sam his whole life - his father had decided he was big enough to train to fight.  He saw how a father went from wanting his son to play baseball to considering it normal to teach a seven-year-old to shoot a gun for his birthday.  To hoping, but not expecting, a three-year-old Sam to understand concepts like _revenge_ and _retribution_.  To telling his just shy of eight-year-old son that his younger brother’s life was in his hands and recognizing that Dean would already be willing to die for his brother.

Cas understood then why Dean was so insistent on getting Sam back.  Why he would be willing to risk eradicating his own soul to save his brother’s.  He had been taught from the age of four that his brother was more important than he was.  That his first objective, his reason for being, was to keep Sam safe.  Cas instinctively knew Dean somehow extended this same protective nature to him now.  He wondered how he could have come to be included in what he already recognized to be a very exclusive group Dean was willing to make sacrifices for.  Perhaps had sacrificed for.  Again Castiel cursed the gaps in his memory that kept him from understanding the motivations of the man he was beginning to suspect was more to him than just a friend.  

As Cas continued to read, he learned that Dean had made his first kill by the age of twelve, and something in Castiel broke at the idea of the man he was coming to know having to face that moment so young.  He knew Dean could be a fierce fighter.  He had seen it at Spirit Mound when he had faced the demon.  But he also knew Dean could be gentle and caring.  He was not a violent man by nature, though Cas suspected Dean would not agree with that sentiment.  John Winchester stated more and more frequently as the journal progressed that Dean was just like him, but Castiel did not agree.  John seemed bent on revenge at the cost of those closest to him.  Dean’s motivation was purely one of protection.  He reacted to the forces lined up against him and put himself in-between danger and those he considered worthy.  

By the time Dean had reached his twenties, John’s pride in Dean’s willingness to follow orders compared to Sam’s resistance was clear.  Dean did what he was told and did not question what John called “the family business.”  Castiel tried to reconcile this with what Dean had told him about free will and the angel’s decision to choose for himself - to stop the apocalypse rather than go along with Heaven’s plan.  What had happened to Dean to change him from the obedient soldier his father had molded him to be, to an advocate of choice?  What had happened to Cas for him to apparently become exactly the same thing?  Was this what had drawn the two together?  There was clearly some kind of bond between them, but Cas was still at a loss to understand or explain it.  

The journal ended rather abruptly when Dean was twenty-six.  Cas turned it over in his hands as though hoping to divine something more.  Clearly, Dean had learned more about the supernatural than his father ever had.  The very fact that Castiel was sitting in this bunker when John had been convinced angels did not exist proved that.  His thoughts turned again to the differences between father and son.  Castiel wondered if John had ever really seen Dean for what he was.  If he had ever seen Dean as more than a soldier in his own private war.  Dean had not spoken of John, and the eight year gap since John had last written in the journal led Cas to believe John was no longer a part of Dean’s life, however that might have come about.  Had they ever found the demon that killed their mother?  What was so different about Sam?  Though he felt he had learned a great deal more about the Winchester boys from the journal, in some ways, Dean - and now Sam - were even more of a mystery to him.  

Unable to sit still any longer, Cas moved down the hallway to the room he recognized as being Dean’s.  He hesitated a moment before pushing the door open and stepping inside to look at the hunter.  It appeared as though Dean had not moved since literally passing out.  He was still fully clothed, face down.  His feet hung over the bottom edge of the mattress, as he had fallen asleep before properly pulling himself up to the top of the bed.  He lay on top of the covers with his boots still on.  

Cas’s gaze softened as he took in the hunter.  Moving forward, he gently untied Dean’s shoes and pulled them from his feet.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to fully undress him without waking him, so he didn't try.  Cas did manage to work the sheet and blanket out from under his friend and to shift him up to a more comfortable position on the bed before draping the blanket over him.  It felt good to take care of Dean.  Not only did it make him feel useful, but Castiel felt the need to thank Dean in some way for all he had done for him in the past week and, Castiel supposed, for however long before that.  

As he watched Dean, he reflected on his desire from the previous evening to protect him. After having read the journal, he understood a little better why that feeling was so strong.  Dean would likely do very little to protect himself.  Now, the desire to keep Dean _safe_ was strongly coupled with the desire to see Dean _happy_.  For Cas knew he deserved it.  

 

* * *

 

Dean woke groggy and disoriented.  A glance at the clock on his phone told him he’d been out for a good fourteen hours, but he felt like he’d only been asleep for an hour at most.  He reached over to turn on the light and immediately winced at the assault on his eyes.  Damn, a migraine.  Just what he needed.  He fought the urge to turn the light off and lie back down again.  He needed to get moving.  Needed to get Sam his body back. He couldn’t afford to nurse a headache.  

He swung his feet over the bed and realized he was no longer wearing his shoes.  Huh.  When had that happened?  Dean wondered if he had woken up and didn’t remember, or if Castiel had come in while he slept.  He suspected the later.  He wanted to think about what that meant, but his head just hurt too friggin’ much.  

Slowly, he stood up and moved towards the door, wincing as the reverberations of his feet hitting the floor echoed through his head.  Eventually he made it to the library, only to find it empty.  Dean was growing to hate the feeling of panic he felt whenever Cas was out of his sight.  He tried to tell himself the bunker was much larger than just the library.  He had told Cas to explore.  Just because Cas wasn’t where Dean left him, didn’t mean Cas was _gone_.  He hated feeling so damn clingy.  Even if Cas _had_ left, it wasn’t like it was the first time.  Dean should be used to it by now.  Knowing that didn’t stop the ache in his chest.  

Trying to calm himself down, he reached for Sam’s laptop and started pulling up the research he would need to face Crowley.  He was pretty sure he knew where the bastard would have buried his brother.  He was also sure Crowley would not just leave Sam unattended for Dean to waltz in and reclaim him.  He had something planned and Dean needed to be ready for whatever might come his way.  

A little over two hours later, Dean had his head down on the table with his eyes closed to give himself a break from the backlight of the computer screen.  He focused on breathing evenly in through his nose and out through his mouth to relieve the pressure in his head.  A noise of surprise from the door made him lift his head to see Cas standing, watching him intently.

He hadn’t realized how much extra tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders until they loosened at the sight of his friend.  The angel’s hair was ruffled as though a lover had been running their hands through it.  Dean had a momentary urge to stand up and smooth it down because it was very distracting.  He resisted, and stayed in his seat.  

“You look like you’ve just had a good nap,” he said instead as a way of greeting.

Cas nodded.  “Yes.  I find that without my full grace sleeping is - necessary.”  He continued to look at Dean closely.  “You do not appear to have rested well however.”

Dean snorted.  “That supposed to be a nice way to tell a guy he looks like shit?  Thanks, man.  I’ve got a headache, that’s all.”

Cas frowned, not appearing to be convinced.  Dean flashed him a halfhearted smile, but the motion only served to increase the pressure building behind his left eye.  

“You said you might have an idea where this Crowley might be keeping Sam?” Cas asked, changing the topic - for which Dean was grateful.

“Yes.  Crowley has a really sick sense of humor.  I think if he’s going to bury Sam anywhere, it’s gonna be in Stull.”

Cas looked at him sharply in recognition of the name.  “Stull?  As in Stull Church outside your hometown?”

Dean froze, eyes zeroed in on Cas.  “Yeah, how did you know that?” Was Cas remembering things?  Was Cas remembering him? But of all things to remember, why would he remember the name of the town where Dean was born?  And a random old church torn down years ago associated with it?

“I read your father’s journal while you slept.  He mentioned Stull Church and Stull Cemetery several times.  Why would Crowley choose this location to bury Sam?”

In a way Dean was grateful his head hurt so badly.  It saved him from trying to think too much about what his face might look like after discovering Cas had read John’s journal.  It wasn’t as though Cas hadn’t read it before.  At one time, he had been almost as familiar with the journal as Dean.  But that had been a Cas who had known Dean instantly and intimately - his whole past, his whole present and his supposed destiny.  What had this Cas thought, learning about Dean through his father’s eyes?  

Cas’s gaze held only curiosity; there was no sign of pity at Dean’s obvious weakness and failure to live up to expectations.  And there was no judgement for any of Dean’s past actions recorded in dubious posterity.  So Dean took a deep breath and explained the true significance of the cemetery to Cas - one his father had never learned of.  

“So, yeah,” Dean concluded, “I think Crowley would find it _poetic_ to bury Sam there.  What I’m worried about is what else we’re going to find there.”

Cas nodded in agreement.

They spent the next two hours trying to plan the unplannable before conceding that they would be better off planning once they confirmed Sam was actually at Stull and knew more about the situation.  

The drive to Lawrence from Lebanon wasn’t an extremely long one as cases often dictated they were.  Generally speaking, it should only have taken them a little under four hours.  Dean’s migraine continued to escalate as he drove, often necessitating him to pull over onto the shoulder and lean his head against the wheel as he breathed deeply through his nose while Cas watched with growing concern.  

Dean was getting worse.  How could he succeed in getting Sam back, if he couldn’t even drive across the state?  In addition to the headaches, he was starting to feel random surges of emotion that had nothing to do with what they were about to face.  Fear, sadness, and resignation roiled in his stomach.  Yes, he was worried about what they might find, but he knew, these feelings weren’t _his_.

When he mentioned this to Cas during one of their pit stops, Cas narrowed his eyes and studied Dean thoughtfully.

“It is likely you are experiencing a bleedthrough effect from Sam’s soul.  As it grows more accustomed to your body as a vessel, it is likely it will have more effect on your physiological and mental responses.”

“But why would Sam be feeling fear?  I know my head’s not exactly the best place to be and all, but I don’t think it’s _that_ bad.”

“I doubt the emotions have anything to do with the present.  It’s more likely you’re experiencing what he felt just before he died.”

Well that just sucked.  Dean wasn’t surprised at the feeling of terror.  He and Sam had both died often enough to know death didn’t always mean peace.  What tore him up was the feeling of resignation.  Sam had known he was going to die before he had even finished the ritual.  Despite what he’d told Dean when they started the trials, he’d had no expectation of coming back from this.  

After six hours, they finally reached the outskirts of Lawrence.  Dean did not want to be back here.  Too much of his past was tied up in the town and even the happy memories had long been tainted by the evil that had taken from him the life that should have been.  At one time, he had thought he wanted to come back here, that this was home.  Now that he had the bunker - a place that connected them to their heritage as much as hunting ever had - he no longer thought of Lawrence as the life that got away.  

They checked into a motel first.  Dean needed to lie down flat in the dark for a little while before attempting to scope out the cemetery. The place was modest.  Not the best he’d ever stayed in, but it was clean and clearly well cared for.  

Dean only allowed himself to rest for half an hour.  He knew his headache was only going to get worse, and the added impact of Sam’s final emotions were starting to play havoc with his ability to distinguish Sam’s feelings from his own.  

Fortunately, the cemetery was within walking distance of the motel.  Dean wanted to check out the area while drawing as little attention to themselves as possible.  The roar of the Impala would have signaled Winchester presence as clearly as a bright neon sign in the middle of a desert.  

The sun had long since set as Cas and Dean moved cautiously through the headstones.  Dean knew the lack of light wouldn’t be a deterrent for a demon keeping watch.  He only hoped that those on duty would be new recruits.  Surely, he was still capable of taking on a green demon despite his weakened state.  

Just as he thought this, a powerful wave of terror not his own swept through his gut, forcing him to his knees.  He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on keeping silent, despite his instinct to cry out.   _Cas!!_ The prayer was directed in all directions.  To the part of his friend standing next to him and to the part of his friend who still watched over him in the universe at large.  

 _God, Cas, help! Make it stop, please, I need you._  

The strength of the emotion crossed borders in Dean’s mind and he wasn’t sure anymore if the terror was his or Sam’s.  The crash of emotion multiplied the pain in his head until he thought it would split open and he welcomed the darkness as it came to claim him.

As his vision faded, he felt a warm, iron grasp on his upper arm - a grasp both physical and mental, holding him together.  Just out of reach of hearing, there was the distinct hum of a feather.

 

* * *

 

Cas felt helpless as he watched Dean crumple in front of him.  The hunter didn’t emit a sound, but the pain he experienced was etched on his face and in the line of tension in his shoulders.  Not for the first time, Cas cursed his limited state, not knowing the best course of action to take.  Should he let Dean wait out the wave of emotion? Should he insist they go back to the motel?  Would it be better if Cas moved Dean to a protected location and continue the investigation they had begun?  

The question was answered for him when Dean curled into a fetal position on the ground, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  Deep within himself, he heard a faint cry for help and he knew it was Dean.  He reached down to grasp Dean’s upper arm and a warmth shot through his hand as though he had grasped the handle of a hot skillet.  He felt the whorl of emotions tearing through Dean and Cas knew he couldn’t leave him.  

The warmth spread through him and Cas sensed something to his immediate right.  He looked up and saw a faint pulsing in the dark.  Reluctantly, he stepped away from Dean and towards the object.  In the darkness, Cas recognized one of his feathers.  Cautiously, he picked it up.  He had not yet regained a feather without collapsing afterwards.  He could not afford to do that now.  Dean needed him.  

Cas came to a decision and steeling his resolve, he slipped the feather into his pocket before looping the now unconscious hunter’s arm over his shoulder and heading quickly back in the direction of the motel.  The walk was short and soon, Cas had Dean lying on one of the two beds in the room.

Castiel analyzed his options.  They still needed to know what they were up against in the cemetery.  He should go back on his own and investigate before it became known they were in town.  The very idea of leaving Dean undefended repulsed him and he quickly dismissed the notion.  

He pulled out the feather from his pocket.  Each feather had provided more insight as to who he was.  Perhaps this one would help in some way?  If it knocked him out though, would it be any better than leaving Dean physically alone in the motel?  If he slept, it would make both of them vulnerable.  

Cas’s fist tightened around the feather.  It was a risk he was going to have to take.  So far, they had no indication Crowley knew they had arrived in Lawrence, or that they even suspected Sam to be here at all.  He felt reasonably sure that if he was unconscious for an hour or two, he and Dean would still be safe.  And he needed answers.  

Lying back on the bed, Cas held the feather up in front of him and let go.  It hovered for a moment over his chest before sinking down and through his skin.  

The sensation was hot and there were flashes of burning, fire and pain accompanied by a driving need to search, to find something.  It was a mission, the most important he had ever been entrusted with.  But he didn’t know what he was searching for.

Cas blinked.  When he sat up, he glanced over at the clock on the bedside table and realized to his surprise he had been out for only about five minutes.  It seemed he was becoming more accustomed to receiving the feathers.  He looked down at his body - more a vessel again with every new addition - and felt something _more_ flowing through him.  

His glance fell on Dean, still out cold on the bed next to him.  Cas knew that even though Dean slept, it was not a restful sleep that would allow him to heal; the burden of carrying Sam was proving too much for his body.  Determined, Cas stood up and walked over to Dean.  Placing two fingers on the hunter’s forehead, Cas closed his eyes and concentrated.

The energy that flowed from him wasn’t that of a full angel.  It would not restore Dean to full health, but it would give him a buffer between his soul and Sam’s and allow him to function.  Cas pushed a little further, expending more energy than was perhaps strictly wise, to help ease Dean’s exhaustion and aching muscles.  

When he had finished, he slumped forward, catching himself on the edge of the mattress before pushing off to head back towards his own.  He sat down, feeling drained, but relieved to see Dean’s face had eased out of the mask of pain he had worn since collapsing.  

 

* * *

 

Dean opened his eyes, unsure of where he was.  The last thing he remembered was walking through the cemetery before being overwhelmed with pain that wasn’t his own, yet had become his own.  He took stock of his body and realized he felt - better.  Not great, but his migraine had been reduced to a dull pressure and the fatigue that had plagued him for the past day seemed to have finally retreated to a manageable level.  

He sat up and looked around, realizing as he did that he was back in the motel room.  A glance at the other bed revealed Cas, leaning upright against the against the headboard, his face turned in Dean’s direction, with his eyes closed.  He felt a twinge of guilt upon realizing the angel must have carried him back.  

As he shifted to stand up, the springs on the mattress creaked and Castiel opened his eyes, apparently not as asleep as Dean thought.  Cas noticed Dean was awake and moved forward in the hunter’s direction, staring intently at Dean as though trying to see into him. The look was familiar and Dean fought the urge to smile in affection.  

“Dean, you’re awake.  How are you feeling?”

“A lot better actually,” he frowned, still a little dazed as the last wisps of sleep fog retreated from his brain.  He rubbed the heel of his hand to his eyes to chase the final tendrils back and looked at Cas again. “What happened?”

“The emotional transfer between Sam’s soul and your own became overwhelming.  You passed out and I brought you back here to recover.”

Dean cursed himself for not being stronger.  “Did you find anything out about Sam and what Crowley might be up to?” he asked hopefully.  Maybe the evening hadn’t been a total loss.  

To his disappointment, Cas shook his head.  “No.  I felt it was more prudent at the time to get you to a safer location.”  

 _Damn._  “Guess I really screwed up on this one, huh?”

Cas looked at Dean in genuine confusion.  “Dean, in what way did you ‘screw this up?’  You suffered a physical response to a burden that would crush most humans.  I’m surprised you withstood the effects without assistance as long as you did.”

Dean snorted.  “Still wasn’t enough.  Doesn’t count if it’s not enough,” he said before Cas’s comment fully registered.  

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘without assistance?’”

“Just before you passed out, another feather appeared.  Once it was reintegrated into the rest of my Grace, I regained a moderate, if incomplete, ability to heal.  I was able to relieve some of the pressure of Sam’s soul.”  

That grabbed Dean’s attention.  “You found another feather?”

“Yes.  It has returned some - confusing - memories.”

Dean snorted.  “A feather from Stull?  I’m not surprised.” And Dean wasn’t.  If he was honest with himself, he had expected to find a feather here.  If the feathers had scattered to locations associated with Cas, it only made sense one would appear where Cas had once died.  The fact that one had appeared seemed to confirm Dean’s suspicions about how and where they might find the rest of Cas’s Grace - or at least where to start.  

Cas cocked his head and frowned at Dean’s response but didn’t press even though Dean could tell he wanted to.  Cas dying for him yet again was not a memory Dean wanted to deal with in his current condition however, and he did not elaborate.  

“So what _do_ you remember?” He asked, not so subtly shifting the topic.  

Cas’s frown deepened as he concentrated on the images that had flashed through his head.  “The memories don’t seem to make sense.  I believe I was on an important mission, though I can’t yet recall what my orders were.  There were many different garrisons involved, not just my own.  We were laying siege to - _Hell_.  But that couldn’t be right.  No angel has been to Hell since Lucifer.”  

Dean froze, his eyes wide.  A giant fist seemed to clutch tightly around his lungs making it hard to breathe.  Cas noticed Dean’s response.  

“Dean?  Do you know this memory?”  

Dean swallowed and looked down, shame burning through him.  “Not completely.  I don’t remember your part of it.  But I know what you were looking for.”

Cas waited, expectant.

Dean couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes as he continued.  “Me.  You were looking for me.”

He heard Cas’s intake of breath and looked up at the angel.  All Dean saw when he met the angel’s eyes was confusion and a series of unspoken questions.  There was no disgust - yet. Dean smiled to himself, a twisted, self-deprecating thing.  

As he had before, Dean struggled with the decision of where to start.  He gave a mental shrug.  If he was going to have to see Castiel push away in revulsion, he might as well go in whole hog.

“I made a deal.” He kept his eyes on the angel, waiting for the inevitable rejection, but Cas’s expression didn’t change.  

“Sam had died on my watch, and I made a crossroads deal to bring him back.  I got a year.” Cas frowned in confusion but didn’t interrupt, so Dean supposed he realized at least that this was already an unusual deal.  “Yeah, apparently they were pretty eager to get me.  Didn’t know why until later.  Hellhounds came and got me as planned, exactly one year later.  Went down became the plaything for a demon named Alastair for about thirty years.  Don’t know exactly how long it took the angels to break into Hell to come get me, but you didn’t make it in time.” He laughed darkly and stood up, rubbing his hands against his thighs, unable to sit still any longer.  As he paced the room, he felt Cas’s eyes on him closely.  

“‘The first seal shall be broken when the righteous man sheds blood in hell,’” Dean started.  He saw Cas tense out of the corner of his eye.  The simple motion - or sudden utter lack of motion - was enough to tell Dean the angel recognized the significance of the words.  

“Thirty years of torture.  Thirty years, I took it.  That was the price I paid to get Sammy back.  To make sure my little brother lived.  It was worth it.  But then one day, I just couldn’t take it anymore.  And I got up, and I did what Alastair wanted me to do.  I became a monster just like him.”

“Dean...,” Cas tried to interject, but Dean spoke over him, knowing he had to finish.

“I became a monster.  And because I wasn’t strong enough, I broke the first seal.  You were there to get me out.  You found me - after about ten more years - and as you once told me, you, ‘gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition.’”

But you know what really sucks?  You were told you were supposed to get me out before the seal broke.  We found out later that most of Heaven wanted the damn apocalypse to happen.  But they needed their so-called ‘ _Righteous Man_ ’ because I was the god-damned destined vessel for Michael.  So I’ve always wondered if they waited just a little too long on purpose to send you down to get my ass out.”

Cas didn’t say anything right away, and Dean wasn’t looking at him anymore so he had no idea what the angel was thinking.  Dean closed his eyes.  This was going to be it.  Cas had accepted him before despite the shit Dean had done in Hell and he still had no friggin’ clue _why_.  But then, he’d known Dean.  But then, he’d had his orders from Heaven.  Dean was the Righteous Man after all and Cas thought Heaven needed him.   _Now_?  What would Cas think?  What else could he think?  Dean was a monster.  Had allowed himself to become a monster.  Had _liked_ being a monster.  His stomach roiled at the memories as they pelted him one after another.  

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder.  He started, almost violently.  He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard Cas move.  

“Dean.  The man I have come to know over the past week is not the man you just described.”

Dean snorted.  “Then you haven’t been listening, Cas.  I know what I became.”

“I have no doubt that you did the things you say you did in Hell.  But Dean, you held out for _thirty_ _years_.  From your description, both Heaven and Hell knew you were the Righteous Man - the one who would break the first seal.  The methods they would have employed against you would have been particularly - inventive.  Beyond the normal level of torture.  What was the longest anyone held out against you?”

Dean winced at the question.  It wasn’t something he liked to think about.  How skilled he was at torture.  How he could choose to end it quickly, or draw it out.  

“The longest was six months,” he said, his voice low and tormented.  

“S _ix months_ Dean.  Your strength of will is like none other I have seen.  It rivals that of the archangels.  You are not a monster.  You are _human_.”  

As Cas spoke, his grip moved from Dean’s shoulder to his upper arm, almost instinctively.  His hand fitted over the ghost of the mark perfectly and Dean felt a warm response flood through him, almost as though the missing part of Cas was desperate to agree with the angel in front of him.  

His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand down his face.  Dean wasn’t really sure why he was so upset that he couldn’t seem to make Cas see that he was nothing but a curse.  It meant Cas wasn’t running the other way, which was a _good_ thing.  Right?

 

* * *

 

Cas watched Dean wrestle with his demons.  For most humans, this was a figurative term.  For Dean, Castiel was beginning to understand the meaning had a very literal definition.  He found it troubling that Dean couldn’t seem to understand how special his soul was.  Not for being the Righteous Man - a tool destined for Heaven - but for his ability to rise above and beyond that destiny.  A normal soul wouldn’t have lasted a year in Hell with the pressures Cas knew Dean would have been subjected to.  But the man had lasted _decades_.  It didn’t matter that he had eventually submitted.  That fact was an inevitable conclusion.  What was amazing was his ability to feel _remorse_ now.  To know what he’d done and not wish to go back.  Anyone else would have been unable to revert to their humanity after such an experience.  Dean might have _thought_ himself to be a monster, but he was anything but.  He was a survivor.  One who walked away from torture as soon as he was able to safely do so.  

Cas knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Dean tonight; they had other priorities to attend to.  But Cas was determined that this would not be the last time they discussed this.  Dean needed to learn his own worth.  

Now, he turned his attention to the problem in front of them.  First and foremost, they had to determine if Sam was really buried in the cemetery.  If he was, what kind of resistance would they meet upon trying to get him back?  

For the second time that night, Dean and Cas left their motel, heading towards Stull and hoping to keep their profile low.  It was well after dark, but neither hunter nor angel wanted to risk a light.  The moon, though waning, was still nearly full and provided them the light they needed.  

Dean walked forward with purpose.  Cas supposed it would be hard for him to forget the path that took him to the point where he’d once watched his brothers descend into Hell.  The hunter pulled up suddenly and Cas nearly ran into his back.  Grabbing Castiel’s sleeve, Dean pulled both of them down to hide behind an old, moss covered headstone.  

Dean frowned as he surveyed the sight in front of him.  Leaning over so he could see too, Cas understood why.  There was a mound of freshly turned earth clearly visible, lending credence to the theory they were in the right spot.  Rather than the expected welcome party of a dozen or more demons though, there only two, clearly bored with their tasks, reminding Cas heavily of the demon Crowley sent after them at Spirit Mound.  

“I don’t like this,” Dean muttered lowly.  “Why are there so few waiting to tangle with us?  It’s almost like Crowley _wants_ us to take Sam.  What’s that slimy bastard up to?”

Cas agreed with Dean.  This was far too simple.  Were they preparing to walk into a trap?  He stood quickly and silently.  So silently, he was several feet away before Dean was even aware he had moved.  

“ _Cas!_ ” he heard Dean hiss urgently.  “Where are you going?”

“I am going to check the perimeter, Dean,” he said in a low murmur, making sure his voice was pitched so it wouldn’t carry to the demons pacing impatiently nearby. “It seems likely there will be more demons in hiding waiting for us to make our move.  I will neutralize them before they have an opportunity to interfere.”

Dean clearly wanted to argue, but didn’t want to risk alerting the demons they could see, much less any others that might be hiding in the shadows.  He settled instead for glaring at Cas, his eyes clearly reading, _get back here._  Cas ignored him; instead, he moved off to circle the grave site.  As he expected, he came across two demons patrolling just out of immediate sight.  Castiel finished the demons off with a quick snap of the neck aware that the light of his Grace if he smote them would immediately signal his presence to anything else in the graveyard.  

After a thorough inspection, Cas was convinced there were only four demons - now two - on guard.  The low number made him uneasy.  Surely Dean was right and there should be a much greater demonic presence.  

He returned to Dean’s side and nodded at Dean’s questioning look.  “There were two others.  They will no longer pose a threat.”  He hesitated.  “I find this lack of security - discomforting.”

Dean snorted.  “You and me both.  Whatever Crowley’s planning though, my priority right now is my getting Sammy back.  Any other shit, we’ll deal with it when it comes.  You ready?”

Cas nodded.  He moved again so that he would be coming from behind the demons, unseen.  Dean waited for him to get into position before stepping out into the open.  

“What’s up fellas?” Dean asked, adopting a nonchalant attitude.  Both demons tensed and immediately came to the alert.  When they saw Dean was alone, they sneered derisively.  

“Just you?” the one to the far left asked, disappointment clear in his voice.  He was a wiry man.  Shorter than Dean by about four inches, but lean and lanky like a hurdler. The demon next to him was short, squat, and clearly lacked a sense of personal hygiene.  Sweat stains were clearly visible under both arms, hair plastered to his forehead in greasy patches.  “Thought there was supposed to be two of you.  You’re not gonna be much of a challenge for us on your own.”  

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, his voice cocky.  He leaned back and looked the demons up and down as though sizing them up.  “I think Crowley might be lowering his standards if you’re what he thinks might be up to the task of taking out a Winchester.”

Cas watched and wished Dean wouldn’t make such a point of antagonizing the demon in front of him.  

“Oh, and what’s so great about being a Winchester? Cocky assed son-of-a-bitch,” the shorter one asked, turning his head to spit at the ground.  

Dean’s face clearly showed his surprise before his expression melts into a smirk.  “You must be one of the newbies then.  Cuz me?  I’m the one demons have nightmares about.”  

It was enough to set the short one off and he lunged towards Dean, a feral grin on his face.  Cas had no intention of letting the demon anywhere near Dean.  He stepped out quickly, moving with purpose towards the shorter demon, grasping the back of his head tightly.  “Dean, shut your eyes.”

The second demon tried to intercept once what was happening finally caught up with him.  Cas was expecting him, and he turned, grasping this one by the face and feeling his Grace, limited though it was, flow through him and into the demon, exploding out in a shower of light.  

Once the light died away, Cas looked down at the destruction at his feet and felt a fleeting sense of sadness for the innocent humans who had been caught in the crossfire because demons had chosen to possess them on a whim.  He looked up again as he heard Dean move, his gaze raking over the hunter, seeking out any potential injury only to find none.  

“Well alright then,” Dean said.  “I guess we start digging.”  

I took them two hours, but the dirt was still loose so the work wasn’t as labor intensive as it could have been.  Soon they heard the distinctive sound of metal against wood.  Dean knelt down to brush the dirt from the top of the rough hewn coffin.  As Dean was about to pull the lid off, Cas laid a hand on his shoulder.  

“Dean,” he said, “perhaps it would be best if I...,” he wasn’t sure how to express what he needed to say in a way that wouldn’t cause the man beneath his hand to flinch.  Sam had been dead for a week now.  It was unlikely his body had undergone any of the typical human forms of preservation.  With the limited healing capability the last feather had restored, Cas could at least repair the visible physical damage the body was sure to display.  

Dean seemed to understand, stepping back and gesturing down to the coffin without a word.  Cas crouched down in his place, laying his hand on the lid as he did so.  When he was sure he had done as much as he could, he pulled back the cover to reveal the man who was both brother and stranger to him.  

Dean had pulled a knife from his boot and was muttering latin words under his breath as he sliced into his forearm to release Sam’s soul.  Both hunter and angel watched as the blue wisp of light descended into the body laying at their feet.  Thirty seconds that stretched to eternity passed before they heard a huge gasp of air and Sam’s chest began rising and falling in rapid succession.  

Sam opened his eyes and Cas saw Dean visibly sag beside him in relief.  Watching him, Cas could see a hole fill itself within the man’s soul, the ragged edges smoothing ever so slightly.  Now that Sam was back, Dean was closer to whole.  

Seeing the two of them together in this moment, with Sam restored, Cas knew why Dean made the deal he did all those years ago.  Whatever Crowley was planning now, whatever trap they might be walking into, Cas knew that for Dean - and perhaps even for himself - the price they would pay would be worth it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the section of this chapter where Cas reads John's journal, I directly reference events and thoughts from Supernatural's John Winchester's Journal by Alex Irvine, published by Harper-Collins e-books. No copyright infringement is intended.


	7. Many Times I've Sacrificed and Dealt with the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is back and Cas begins to question his place amongst the brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Real life got in the way and I'm also starting the SPN AU Big Bang so my attention is divided...
> 
> Thanks to the fabulous tundraeternal for the awesome beta despite the madness that was GISHWES!

Dean watched Sam’s eyes open and felt relief flood through him, nearly swamping his other senses for a brief moment.  

Sam was alive.  That was all that mattered.

Grinning, he reached down for his brother’s hand.  Sam looked at him, dazed and mildly confused, before reaching back and letting Dean haul him up into a tight hug.  

“Dean?” Sam said, the question in his voice clear.  

“Hey, Sammy, welcome back.”  Dean could feel his smile about to split his face.  He sent a silent thank you out to the universe - the light, answering brush of sensation near his shoulder was familiar by now.  

“What happened?  The last thing I remember...,” he trailed off and Dean clasped him harder to him because he knew all too well what Sam had felt.  

Sam pulled back suddenly, his eyes filled with horror as he looked at Dean.  “Dean, why - how - am I back?  Please -,” he paused, clearly unhappy at having to ask his next question.  “Please tell me you didn’t make another deal.”  

Dean was so happy to see his giant of a baby brother back again, the implication he would be stupid enough to make another demon deal rolled right off.  Besides, he _had_ made a deal - sort of.  

“Not exactly.”

Sam’s frown deepened and Dean had to laugh.  “Don’t worry, dude.  Besides, it worked - no more Hell to make a deal with.”

Sam’s expression changed to one of incredulity.  “It - worked?  Seriously?  Heaven too?” He visibly relaxed.

“Hey, don’t look so surprised.  It’s what you _died_ for, man.” Dean’s gut clenched  again at the memory of Sam’s pain and his _willingness_ to die.  Had he really done that with no expectation they would succeed?  Hadn’t he _promised_ Dean he would make it through these trials?  That he saw a light at the end of the tunnel?  That was why he was so insistent to take the demon trials over Dean to begin with.  And for all of it, they had only managed to muck things up again.    

Disconcerted, Dean realized the memory of the pain still wasn’t all his and wasn’t as distant as he expected considering Sam was no longer sharing his skin.  He pushed the concern aside to worry about later.  

Something must have changed in his face.  Perhaps Sam was just predisposed to know nothing in their lives actually went according to plan.  Dean felt him tense even as Sam’s eyes softened and he looked at Dean in concern.

“Cas?” he asked gently.

“I’m here, Sam.” Cas had been standing slightly apart and behind Sam when he first awoke.  Dean realized he’d been attempting to remain as unobtrusive as possible while the brothers had their reunion.  

Sam spun, caught off guard by the sound of the angel’s voice.  “Cas!” Surprise, shock and delight warred for dominance on his face.  “Thank God - you’re ok?

Dean knew Sam considered Cas family too, but he wondered if there was more behind his brother’s relief than Cas’s well being.  Dean knew he had never handled Cas going away easily and Sam had witnessed it on more than one occasion.

Cas gave Sam a half rueful smile.  “More or less,” he told the younger Winchester.

Dean could only stare in surprise at the angel.  He was _smiling_ at Sam despite not remembering him.  And had Cas just made an attempt at humor?  How long had Cas known the Winchesters the first time around before showing that much humanity?  It had been less than a week this time - for Sam, less than a sentence.  

Sam looked back and forth between the angel and his brother, clearly recognizing he was missing something important.  “Uh, guys?  I have a feeling I have a lot to catch up on and I’d maybe rather do it somewhere other than a boneyard.”

He looked around for the first time and froze as he recognized where they were.  His eyes flew to Dean who saw the panic creeping into the edges of his brother’s expression.  

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.  I’ll explain it all on the way to the motel.”

 

* * *

 

Cas followed a few steps behind Sam and Dean, suddenly unsure of where he fit into their dynamic.  What was his role?  He had become comfortable with Dean over the past several days.  That comfort had been a balm against the reality of not knowing who he was or what he had become, and the weakened state of his Grace.  Dean had assured Cas he had a place next to him, next to both the Winchesters.  But Cas also knew Dean and Sam had a bond that long predated his presence in their lives.  That much had not only been clear from John’s journal, but also in the fierceness Dean displayed in his determination to save his brother.  

Now that Sam was back, the balance had shifted.  Where were Dean’s priorities?  Did he need Cas anymore?  He was fairly certain Dean would at least fulfill what he deemed to be an obligation to Cas.  For some reason, Dean still blamed himself for Cas’s lost Grace.  But Castiel was a warrior.  He needed to be useful, to have a mission, even - as he was coming to learn - if it was one of his own choosing.  

Sam was an unknown entity.  Like his memories of Dean, Sam was shrouded in mystery.  What kind of relationship had Cas had with this man?  Did this Winchester consider him part of the same select inner circle Dean somehow did?  These unknowns made Cas wary of putting himself too forward until he had the opportunity to more fully assess the situation.  

The fact that Sam seemed genuinely pleased to see him relieved some of the tension he’d felt knotting up inside of him.  This desire and need to feel _accepted_ was something Cas couldn’t recall experiencing during his life in the garrison. Had he felt this way about his brothers?  He remembered training with them, learning with them, fighting with them - at least patches of those memories; even memories of his earlier life as an angel were incomplete.  What he remembered of Heaven was that it just _was_.  There was no extreme emotion - not for the foot soldiers, and not on such an independent basis.  Everything that was felt and done was for the good of the whole, to complete their task of guarding their Father’s creation.  This yearning for a place amongst these human brothers was alien to Cas.

As they walked back to the motel, Sam looked back at Cas, a hesitant smile on his face.  Cas couldn’t tell if the hesitancy spawned from Cas himself, or from the many unknowns of the situation he had woken up to.  

“Hey, Cas.  It’s good to see you, man.  I wasn’t really sure...I mean, if we shut the doors...” Sam looked at him with eyes that seemed to be conveying a message and asking a question at the same time.  Cas wasn’t sure how to interpret either.  Perhaps Sam thought he had died as well - a reasonable assumption considering how events had panned out.  He frowned and cocked his head to the side. They had not had a chance to explain yet that Cas’s memory was incomplete.  Perhaps Sam was alluding to something Cas should be able to recall?  A conversation or a decision he had made before they attempted to close the doors?  

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean barked, a small furrow between his eyes.  

Both Sam and Cas turned to look at Dean in surprise.  

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam asked warily.

“Cas...,” Dean shoved his hands in his pocket and looked at Cas briefly before shifting his eyes to the ground.  Cas watched him closely as Dean seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.  

“I messed up, Sammy.”  Sam scowled and Cas stepped forward in protest, but Dean held up his hand and continued. “I messed up and you wound up dead, _again_.  And the only reason _I’m_ not dead is because Cas stepped in front of me and took the Heavenly kickback.”  Dean locked eyes with Cas and the angel could read the sorrow and apologies in them.  

He faced Sam again.  “Long story short?  Cas doesn’t have all his memories right now.  His Grace was scattered and he’s only running on partial mojo.  So he doesn’t remember you yet.”  Dean took a deep breath.  “We’re working on it though.”  

Sam looked back at Cas in surprise before turning back to Dean.  He narrowed his eyes knowingly and said, “There’s something else.”  

Cas was impressed Sam could tell Dean was evading the full story.  He wondered if he should step in and relieve Dean of the burden of explaining their task to somehow reopen Heaven and Hell despite both brothers’ sacrifices to close them in the first place.  Before he could decide on what to say, Dean just huffed out a laugh.  

“Yeah, well, there’s always more isn’t there?  Let’s just get back to the motel and sit down while we talk.  I don’t like being this exposed.  It was too easy to get you back and I have a feeling Crowley is planning something.  I’d rather not be out in the open at the moment.”

Sam nodded and followed Dean’s lead.  

Cas stayed silent and watched Dean sadly as the hunter hunched his shoulders as though warding off the cold or invisible blows of undeserved self disgust.  Was there any way to convince Dean that the problems he bore were not his fault, nor necessarily his responsibility?  

Cas followed the brothers as they moved back in the direction of the motel lost in contemplation.

 

* * *

 

Now that Sam was with them, it occurred to Dean that they would need to book a second room.  Cas hadn’t regained enough mojo to go without sleep completely, Sam was just back from the dead, and Dean was still drained from carrying Sam’s soul.  All three felt the accumulated strain weighing upon them as they walked back.  Problem was, he wasn’t sure how to divide up the rooms.  He was worried about Sammy and needed to be able to glance over at the bed next to him to assure himself his brother was alright - a need ingrained in Dean since childhood and only easily dismissed when they were in the bunker.  But he was equally afraid of being away from Cas.  Dean had felt the angel withdrawing after Sam woke up.  He was sure if he left Cas on his own, Dean would wake up and find the angel gone.  And he couldn’t lose Cas.  Not again.  With or without his memories and mojo intact, Dean needed Cas.  It was simple as that.  

In the end, Sam decided for him.  They had spent another hour and half catching Sam up on Dean’s deal with Death and the new problems set before them.  Dean watched as Sam listened and just accepted their new mission impossible - his facing growing a little grimmer with each detail.  They discussed why Crowley had taken Sam, but then made it so easy for Dean and Cas to retrieve him.  In the end, none of them could come up with a logical reason behind the demon’s machinations.  

Sam stood up and held his hand out to Dean expectantly.  Dean looked at him for a moment confused.  “Key, Dean.  For the other room.  No offense, but dying and coming back to life takes it out of a guy.  You and Cas are both already settled into this room and I need to sleep.”  

Grateful to have the decision taken out of his hands, Dean handed over the key only a little reluctantly.  He knew Sam was an adult now and didn’t need Dean to watch over him, but old habits died hard.  

Once Sam had closed the door behind him, Dean looked at Cas and smiled wanly, exhaustion overtaking him.  Cas looked back, concern evident on his face, but he still hung back, as though wary of Dean.  

Dean frowned.  He thought the angel had merely been acting reserved to give Sam and Dean a chance to reconnect - why was he still acting so distant when it was just the two of them?

“What’s up, man?”

Cas tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

Dean ran his hand down his face.  He couldn’t tell if Cas was being evasive or just clueless.  Dean didn’t have the energy to try to parse it out.  A small part of his mind worried that Cas was pulling back so he could walk away again.  Dean just wanted to shout, “Don’t go!”

Instead, he looked Cas in the eye and said, “Dude, since Sam woke up, you’ve been, I don’t know, different.”  Dean noted how he made it sound as though Sam had merely taken a nap.

There was no mistaking Cas’s shift in gaze and Dean felt a vice clench inside his gut.   _This is it_ , he thought.

Cas looked back to Dean, studying him in a way Dean remembered so well.  It caused an ache in his chest to think he was about to lose that steadfast stare again so soon after getting it back.  He found it hard to realize now there was a time it had made him uncomfortable.  It was friggin’ depressing that it seemed he had to truly lose something before he could appreciate it.  

“I admit, I find myself - unsure,” Cas said, hesitantly.  Dean stayed quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

“I’m not at full strength.  I only know part of who I am, and the memories I do have hardly seem relevant to your mission.  I don’t know how to make myself useful.”

Cas paused, looking down as though to collect himself.  Dean found the action jarring.  His Cas - and he realized it had been several days since he had thought of _his_ Cas as being someone separate from the angel in front of him - was always so confident, often to the point of obstinacy, and it shook something in Dean’s core to see him so vulnerable.  

Cas looked up one more time, drilling Dean with his gaze as though to emphasize the truth of his next words.  “You shouldn’t be burdened with trying to help me recover my memories, Dean.  I can continue to search for them on my own.  Your priority now should be Sam and figuring out how to reopen Heaven and Hell to human souls.”

Even though he was expecting it, the words were a punch to the gut and they hurt worse than Dean was willing to admit, even to himself.  He wanted to fight, to do what he should have done so many times in the past and point blank ask Castiel to stay; he was so damn tired.  Cas’s confession drew what little energy Dean still had and all he could do was close his eyes in resignation to what would always be the inevitable.  

“Let’s talk about what to do in the morning.  There’s no need to be making decisions like that right now.  Right now, we all need sleep.”  Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas for confirmation.  “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” Dean repeated, desperate to make sure Cas would still be there when he woke up.

Cas nodded.  “My vessel doesn’t yet require sleep.  I’ll watch over you, Dean.”

Dean smiled wistfully as he lay flat against the lumpy mattress.  “Thanks, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

Cas watched Dean as he slept.  Being able to do something for the hunter, even if it was just this, brought him a strange contentment.  Cas didn’t want to reflect on the sting he felt when Dean made no attempt to assuage his concerns.  Cas assumed it was something Dean had thought about too and had chosen not to mention out of a misplaced sense of responsibility.

Cas lost track of how long he sat thinking.  At some point, he must have drifted into a light doze against the headboard.  He was jerked back to full alertness at the sound of a small cry emanating from the bed next to him.  

Dean had thrown the sheets off his torso and rather than lying full out on his stomach as Cas had come to recognize as his relaxed pose, Dean was now on his side, curling in on himself as though in pain.  

Cas moved to stand next to the sleeping man.  Reaching down, he grasped Dean’s shoulder tightly and shook his friend.  He started to grow alarmed when Dean flinched, but didn’t wake.  Instead, Dean started thrashing, the quiet cries turning to moans of panic as his legs became entangled in the sheets.  

“Dean!” Cas shouted the hunter’s name and climbed on the bed in order to straddle his friend and hold him down in hopes of preventing Dean from hurting himself.  Cas cursed whatever universal whim it was that he had not yet regained the angelic ability to dream walk.  He shouted Dean’s name again, this time shaking both shoulders hard, suddenly desperate to get the man beneath him to wake up, instinctively knowing this was not a normal dream.  This time, Dean’s eyes snapped open and he gasped loudly as he tried to sit up, only to find himself still pinned by Cas.  

Rather than releasing Dean, Cas leaned forward and peered closely into Dean’s eyes, determined to make sure he had fully returned from whatever had ensnared him.  To Cas’s relief, though the green that stared back at him still held a vestige of fear and panic, they were clear and focused on him.  Satisfied, Cas released Dean and moved off of him.

Dan sat up more fully and ran a hand down his face as though attempting to more fully dispel the fog from his thoughts.  

“Cas?  What the hell?”

“You appeared to be having a nightmare,” Cas said apologetically as way of explanation.  

Dean looked at him uncomprehending.  “Yeah?  Hazard of the job. Nothing new.”

Cas frowned, frustrated at Dean’s dismissive reaction to the situation.  Cas’s chest still felt tight with an emotion he supposed was akin to terror - the heart of his vessel beating at an increased tempo.  In all the memories he’d recovered, he had never _felt_ this strongly.  Even in the heart of battle, he could not recall fear like this for himself or for one of his brothers.  Yet Dean insisted the event was inconsequential.  

“Dean, you wouldn’t wake up.  This was more than a typical human dream.  Do you remember anything?”

Dean’s forehead puckered in concentration.  “Not really, man.  Not until I woke up with you sitting on top of me.”

Cas sagged forward in defeat.  “I _am_ sorry for waking you Dean, but I didn’t wish to see you in pain.  Despite your insistence this was a regular nightmare, I suspect it’s more likely a remnant from Sam.  Remember, you can’t touch a soul like that without it leaving a mark or brand of some kind.”

Dean had the courtesy at least to flinch at the obvious concern in Cas’s voice.  “Sorry, Cas.  Thanks for waking me, really.  I just don’t want you to get worked up over a dream.  You have yourself to worry about after all.”

Dean looked at Cas a little sadly before rolling over with his back to Cas, presumably to go back to sleep.  Cas watched him in confusion, not sure where the sadness had come from or why Dean seemed to be pulling more into himself.

When Dean’s breathing had evened out again, Cas moved to lay a hand on his forehead, sending as much healing as he could directly to Dean’s frayed soul before lying down on the opposite bed and allowing himself to slip into sleep.  

* * *

 

Dean woke the next morning more well rested.  He didn’t want to lift his head from the pillow, though, half afraid Cas would be gone, despite the promise of talking in the morning.  Gathering his nerve, he turned his head towards the bed next to him.  To his surprise and relief, he saw Cas spread out asleep.  At some point in the night, Cas had moved the pillow out from under his head and had curled around it.  Dean felt a momentary twinge of jealousy for the inanimate object before being swamped with self loathing for how he had acted the night before.  

He had _sworn_ he wasn’t going to lie to Cas again.  Apparently, he’d been able to stick to that promise for all of a week.  Typically Winchester.  

Dean knew the dream last night hadn’t been a normal dream.  He’d been in Hell - but it wasn’t the Hell he knew; it was Sam’s, locked in the cage for centuries with Michael and Lucifer.  He knew Cas wanted to help, but this Cas didn’t remember watching Sam suffer from these memories; he didn’t remember trading his own sanity to save the Winchesters one more time. This Cas was void of those experiences and it wasn’t the help Dean craved. Besides, Cas was leaving again.  Dean knew how to handle Hell dreams.  He’d sacrificed for his brother before and dealt with the pain.  He’d deal with it again now.  He wasn’t going to force Cas to stay if he wanted to go.  

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing.  The more he thought of Cas _gone_ , the harder the action became.  

He needed to move - get out of the room and away from the angel currently playing havoc with his thoughts.  Quietly, he took his key and stepped outside.  He paused outside Sam’s door, the urge to check on his brother almost overpowering, but he knew he didn’t have enough control over his own emotions yet and he refused to have a conversation on feelings with Sam right now.  Dean needed to be fully functioning first.  He needed to be strong enough to be whatever Sam and Cas needed for however long they needed him.

Dean was under no illusions that either would stay with him.  One day, they would both leave.  For a while, before they closed the gates, Dean had let himself hope... But that was stupid.  He never got to keep what he wanted.  And clearly he couldn’t protect shit, so they were probably better off without him anyway.  Dean’s new insight into Sam’s pain proved that.  He’d had one damn job.  Keep Sammy safe.  How many times had he managed to screw that up?  He should have let Sam stay at Stanford all those years ago.  Left to find Dad on his own.  Or let Sam have the life he’d found with Amelia when Dean was lost in Purgatory.  

Dean’s thoughts kept him company until he reached the 7-11 two blocks from their motel.  He ordered Sam’s straight black - no extra calories for him - Dean loaded his own with sugar and cream.  He was a little stuck on Cas.  He knew Cas had become accustomed to the _appearance_ of drinking coffee, but he didn’t think the angel had ever actually tried any of the beverage before and it just didn’t seem to suit him.  In the end, Dean decided on a generic breakfast tea, figuring Cas seemed more the tea type than the coffee type.  People who drank tea drank to enjoy it.  Cas liked to appreciate the little things about the world around him.  Dean just needed the shock and the sugar buzz of coffee.  Quick and dirty.  

He took the drinks and headed back to the motel, stopping at Sam’s room first this time, now confident he would be able to face his brother without inciting twenty questions.  It didn’t matter that Sam was fresh back from the dead - Dean knew he’d want to talk.  At least Dean was positive Sam was back with his soul this time around.  

Balancing the tray in his left hand, Dean knocked on the door with his right.  There was no immediate response, which surprised him.  Sam was the early riser.  He knocked again and this time he heard a shuffling from inside.  After a minute, Sam opened the door and looked blearily out at Dean who raised his eyebrows in question.  

Sam opened the door more fully to allow his brother to come in, stifling a yawn as he did so.  

“Dude, you ok?” Dean asked, holding out Sam’s coffee as he eyed his brother up and down, looking for more evidence Sam wasn’t 100%.  Samsquatch had clearly not bothered to change out of his clothes before crashing on the bed.  He had a rumpled look about him and since Sam had been lying dead a week in those clothes, Dean had to admit he smelled a little ripe.  

Sam grunted a thanks as he took the coffee.  “Yeah.  I dunno.  Didn’t sleep well.”

“And apparently didn’t shower before you crashed.  You stink.”  

Sam grimaced as he looked down at his clothes.  “No chance you brought me a change?”

Dean flashed him a shit eating grin.  “Got you covered.  Have you a bag packed in the other room.  You took off before I could give it to you last night.  What was up with that?”

Sam’s face took on a pained expression.  “I thought you and Cas could use the time.  Besides.  I was beat.” He frowned for a moment.  “Actually, I still am.  I don’t feel like I slept at all last night.  Crazy dreams, but I can’t remember too much about them.  Mostly just fear that I was going to lose something, but whatever it was stayed just out of reach.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably.  He knew that dream.  It was one he’d had his whole life.  Since he’d realized he should have done more to save his mother.  Since he’d realized it was up to him to keep Sam safe, though he’d never really felt capable of it.  So it seemed the soul thing was a two way transfer.  Well that just sucked.  He wasn’t sure how to explain that to Sam though.  Besides, it was probably just a temporary thing.  It might linger for a few nights, but it would go away eventually.  He didn’t need to let Sam know he was feeling Dean’s insecurities.  Dean needed to maintain the facade of strong and sure if he was going to get them through whatever it was they were expected to do.  And hell if he knew what that was.

Dean noticed that Sam was watching him closely as though trying to puzzle something out.  “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how you’re doing.  I mean.  With Cas and all,” Sam said, his most innocent expression firmly in place.  
“What do you mean, ‘with Cas and all?’” Dean asked, though he knew what his brother was probably trying to get at.  Didn’t mean he had to help him.

“Well, Cas doesn’t remember us right?  That’s gotta be tough.  I mean, you guys have shared a lot.  You’ve got that whole ‘profound bond’ thing going and all...,” Sam trailed off looking at Dean expectantly.

“Yeah, well, the profound bond seems to be gone now.  I’ve been trying to help him out, but I think he’s decided he’d do better on his own.  He mentioned last night he might go off looking for his memories without us while we work on the whole Heaven/Hell thing.”  Dean found he couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eye while he admitted this.  Suddenly, the top of his coffee cup was incredibly interesting.  

When Sam didn’t say anything in response, Dean risked a glance up and screw his life if Sam didn’t look _sympathetic_.  That was _not_ what Dean needed right now.  In fact, despite not really having anything to drink since returning from Purgatory, he suddenly wished he had a flask of bourbon to toss into his coffee.  

Dean decided instead to change topics.  “So, you got any ideas about on reopening Heaven and Hell to the souls?  I’d like to _try_ and keep it closed to all the riff raff we shut up to begin with.  I mean, if we can finally manage to gank Crowley and still get the right souls sent to the right places, that seems best all around right?”  Because their lives always went according to the most convenient plan.  

“Have you asked Kevin yet?  Maybe there’s something on the tablets he didn’t get to before we started the tasks.  After all, he never did make it through the entire angel tablet - Metatron told us what we needed to know.  And did he actually translate all the demon tablet, or just the tasks?  Maybe there was something we missed.  Or maybe there’s another tablet out there somewhere.”

Dean frowned.  “I don’t want to bring Kevin into this Sam.  He’s done his part.  We still don’t even know for sure if his mom is dead or alive.  The kid deserves his own life.”

Sam sighed and Dean’s frown deepened.  He knew Sam probably thought he was going soft.  That he wasn’t paying attention to the bigger picture.  But hell if Dean was going to drag an innocent back into this stupid never ending game of theirs.  

“Look, Dean.  Just think about it.  It might be our only option.  I’m gonna take a shower.  Why don’t you take Cas his drink and see what he thinks?”  If he noticed the way Dean stiffened at the mention of Cas, Sam was kind enough not to mention it.  As he turned towards the bathroom, Dean picked up the tea and headed back out to his own room.

When Dean got back in front of his door, he realized his hands were too full to try to dig in the pocket of his jeans for his door key.  Instead, he kicked the base of the door with his foot and hoped Cas was both up and not in the shower.  

Thankfully, the door opened almost immediately.  Cas was dressed, but his shirt tail was untucked and his hair was sticking in every direction.  Dean had to take a breath because what he really wanted to do was put down the drinks and straighten out the angel in front of him.  The urge to touch almost overwhelming.  Instead, he thrust the cup of now lukewarm tea forward.  

“Sorry.  I stopped by Sam’s room first so you might need to zap that in the microwave before you drink it.”

Cas nodded and took a sip anyway to test it.  He looked up and gave Dean a small smile.  “This is perfectly acceptable, Dean.  Thank you for the gesture.”

Dean just nodded dumbly, not sure of what to do next or where to look.  He still really wanted to help Cas tidy himself up, but he was afraid the effort would either not be appreciated or just make Dean hurt more when Cas left and Dean couldn’t be there to help him anymore.  Because the angel didn’t need Dean.  He was an angel, after all, and Dean was just a broken hunter.  

Dean looked towards the bathroom door, figuring that was his best chance of escape from what was rapidly developing into an awkward situation.  “Well, I need to shower.  I didn’t want to risk waking you earlier.  Sam’s up.  He should be done with his shower in a few minutes if you want to go over and catch up, maybe take his bag with you so he’s got some fresh clothes.  He might have some ideas for you about your memories.  Pointers on where to look.  His brain is like an encyclopedia.  Plus I know he’ll want to have a chick flick moment with you that I’d rather skip.”

He turned towards the bathroom, but Cas didn’t move.  When Dean reached the door frame, he turned back to his friend, speaking to him, but unable to look up from the dingy avocado green shag carpet.  “It’s ok if you want to leave, Cas.  I get it.  It’s ok.” With that said, he turned into the bathroom and locked the door.  

 

* * *

 

Cas watched Dean as the hunter disappeared into the bathroom.  He had hoped that this morning they would have the opportunity for discussion; to talk about what would be the best move for all of them.  Instead, Dean seemed to be sending him off with his blessings.  It hurt more than a little, but Cas couldn’t understand _why_.  Or even why he was capable of feeling hurt.  Cas literally knew Adam better than Dean at this point, but if Dean had been about to eat the forbidden fruit, Cas knew he would have done everything in his power to stop him, to let him keep paradise.  

With a sense of resignation, Cas turned and walked to the adjoining room.  At the moment, his feelings towards Sam were mixed.  The aura Sam’s soul emitted was very different than that of his brother.  He too had been tugged and torn, but the pieces fit together better.  Even after the demon trials and having only recently returned from the dead, the seams of Sam’s soul were healing, the edges smoother with less inner turmoil to drag it down and attempt to stifle it.   Despite this, it remained almost dim in comparison to the  brightness of Dean’s.  There was something, some tinge darkening the edges of it, though Cas could not pinpoint what it might be.  Despite Cas’s reservations, Dean had assured him Sam, too, thought of Cas as family, that he would be just as concerned about Cas’s well being.  And Cas found he craved that familiarity.  Someone who knew him and might help him find his footing in this world where everything else seemed to have stayed the same, but Castiel himself had radically changed.  

Hesitantly, Cas knocked on the door.  Sam was clearly done with his shower, because he answered the door almost immediately, his face lighting up in a friendly smile when he saw Cas on the other side.  His smile expanded further when he saw the bag in Cas’s hand.

“Hey, man! C’mon in.”  

Sam stepped back from the door frame and gestured Cas inside.  Cas hesitated only a moment before crossing the threshold.  “Hello, Sam.  You seem to be doing better than last night.”

Sam huffed a small laugh.  “Yeah, well, dying can take it out of a guy y’know?”

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never had the experience, though Dean has indicated that you have before so I’ll trust your judgement.”  

Sam stared at Cas as though he hadn’t really seen him before and Cas found himself growing uncomfortable under his eyes.  It wasn’t the staring itself, Cas understood the point of _watching_.  It was the pity and shock, as though Sam realized Cas was somehow _less_ than he had been.  Cas suspected he had somehow revealed one of the many remaining gaps in his memory, but refused to ask Sam to acknowledge it. He was still feeling out of sorts from his conversation with Dean and wasn’t sure how to act around this virtual stranger in front of him.

Sam’s shoulders slumped a little and he ran a hand through his still-wet hair.  Upon closer inspection, Cas realized Sam looked as though he had rested as well as Dean.  He wondered if he too was feeling some level of emotional transfer from riding Dean’s soul.  

“Sam?” Cas asked, the serious tone in his voice drew the younger Winchester’s attention.  

“Yeah, Cas?”

“You appear to be experiencing side effects from the process it took to bring you back.  Do you mind if I try to ease your suffering?”

“Uh, sure?”  Sam looked surprised, but he stood still in front of Cas regardless.

Cas appreciated the show of trust and placed two fingers on Sam’s forehead.  As he had with Dean, he pushed strength through his extremities, send the power through his hand to Sam, flooding his soul with the ripples of his diminished Grace.  

Sam sighed and a line of tension eased from his shoulders.  “Thanks, man.  I didn’t even realize anything was out of the ordinary.”

“You feel better then?” Cas confirmed, Dean had shown no visible reaction to the touch and he had been unsure he had actually managed to help his friend.

Sam shrugged and smiled a half smile.  “Yeah, I feel, I dunno, lighter?”

Cas nodded.  “The damage to your soul must have been less severe than to your brother’s then.”

Sam stiffened.  “What?”

Cas looked at Sam in confusion.  Had Sam not realized the implication of carrying a soul?  Dean had said Sam carried a soul out of Purgatory, though he admitted it had not been for as long as Dean carried Sam.  

“Dean carried your soul for more than a full day.  That level of connection between two souls is not supposed to happen.  When you touch a soul…”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember, it leaves a mark.  What has it done to Dean?”

Cas looked at Sam in genuine surprise.  “We’ve had this discussion before?”

“Uh, yeah.  Um.  Cas, how many memories do you have back?”

Cas shifted and frowned.  “I seem to have regained many of my memories of my early years with the garrison.  And I have seen flashes of Hell, but I have no recollection of you, your brother or of the war he tells me occurred in Heaven.”  

Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, but pushed it aside in favor of pressing Cas more closely about Dean.  “What’s wrong with Dean?”

“Before we retrieved your body, the weight of carrying your soul almost...overwhelmed him.  I was able to alleviate most of the pressure until we were able to revive you, but he did not sleep well last night and I suspect the dream he was caught in was a fragment of your memories - though I don’t know what memories they were.  When I woke him, he denied recalling a nightmare.”  

Sam closed his eyes and dropped his face to his hands.  

“Sam?” Cas asked in concern.

“Yeah, no, Cas, I’m fine. It’s just, it’s very typically _Dean_.  To deny there’s anything wrong.  He’ll look out for everyone but himself.”  

Sam looked up at Cas from where he sat on the bed, his expression worried.  “Dean said you were thinking about leaving - trying to find your feathers on your own.”

Cas stopped breathing for a moment.  Dean had talked about their conversation to Sam?  Why?  

“Look.  Cas, I can’t make the decision for you…,” Sam sighed.  “This would be a lot easier if you remembered us.”

Cas felt a flash of irritation.  “Yes, it would, but there is very little I can do about that, save find my feathers.  Which is why I proposed to Dean I could relieve him of an extra responsibility and search for them on my own.  I don’t wish to cause you trouble, Sam.  I am a being several millennia old.  I do recall that.  I _can_ take care of myself.”

“No, no, no, Cas.  That’s not what I meant!”  Sam looked horrified and rushed to clarify.  “I don’t mean you being around us would be easier.  I meant...shit.  Look. I’m trying to explain why that particular conversation is never going to get you very far with Dean.  I’m guessing he told you he’s cool with it if you want to leave right?”

Cas narrowed his eyes and nodded.  

“I promise you, Cas, that is the _very_ last thing my brother wants.  He’ll never actually tell you he wants you to stay though.”

“Why?” Cas was genuinely confused.  Why would Dean say one thing, but mean something completely different?  Had he lied about other things?

Sam started messing with his hands, weaving his fingers together and twisting his thumbs in agitation. His eyes flickered back and forth between his hands and Cas. “Let’s just say, you haven’t always been the best at sticking around.  Sometimes it was by choice, sometimes it wasn’t.  And you not having died?  Not exactly true.  Dean’s had to watch you die for us at least three times - four now if you count your current state.  And every single time, he blames himself.”

Cas blinked and opened his mouth, but Sam held up his hand.  “It’s not just you Cas.  We’ve both lied to Dean.  We’ve both left him.  Our Dad left him.  He watched our mother die when he was only four years old, killed by a demon.  I’m not saying he hasn’t done stupid shit too - trust me, he has - but he’s got a real genuine fear of being left behind.  You offering to leave?  He probably expected it.”

“Then why doesn’t he just tell me he would prefer me to stay?”

“Free will, Cas.  Dean’s not going to take that from you and he’s never going to believe that you really want to stay.  He doesn’t see a happy ending for himself.  It’s one of the reasons I insisted on doing the demon trials.  I wanted to give him that chance.”

Sam paused, considering Cas through narrowed eyes as though he wasn’t sure he should tell him what he really wanted to say.  “Did Dean - has Dean told you about the trials to close Heaven?”

Cas frowned.  “He told me the tasks, but did not give me any details on how he accomplished them.  I was unsure how a human could complete some of them or how others would be significant enough to be considered a trial worthy of closing Heaven - an act of trust for example.”

Sam snorted inelegantly.  “I see you’re still getting to know Dean again.  Trust isn’t something that comes easy.  Did he tell you every one of those trials required two participants?  They could only be completed in tandem - by and a human _and_ an angel.  Closing Heaven had to be a joint effort.  Let’s just say it wasn’t easy on either of you, but Dean...I think it changed something in him.  And we weren’t sure what was going to happen.  We weren’t even sure which side of the gate you would wind up on.  But I think he started to think about things he’s never let himself think about before, even if he never admitted them out loud.”

Sam sighed and ran a hand down his face in a move similar to one Cas had seen Dean make several times.  He wondered briefly if the brothers knew how many mannerisms they shared.  

“I don’t know.  I’ve probably said too much.  Dean’d kill me if he knew.  This is really between you guys, but you should know… Like I said, I can’t make the decision for you, man.  But if you’re going because you think _Dean_ would prefer it?  Don’t.  Please.”

Cas’s brow furrowed in concentration, too many new thoughts jumbled through his mind, disjointed.  He needed time to sort through them, to understand everything Sam had revealed to him.  He certainly didn’t _want_ to leave Dean.  He at least now had hope that Dean thought of him as more than an obligation.  That what he had said about being _family_ was true.  

“I will - I will think about what you’ve said, Sam.  Thank you.” He turned towards the door again, still concentrating on what Sam had told him.  “If Dean asks, tell him I’ve gone on a walk.”  He felt Sam’s concerned gaze follow him out the door, his head full of all he’d learned.    

 


End file.
